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LOVE SONGS 
OF ENGLISH POETS 




BEWARE 



From the picture bv /Ingelica Kauffmau. 



.03 



Authorized Edition. 







7 



INTRODUCTION 

Is it not a little singular that, amid the many 
treasuries of poetry which have been published 
with so much acceptance during the last five-and- 
twenty years, there have been so few devoted to 
the poetry of love? This is the consideration 
which emboldens me in putting forth the present 
volume. Its scope is limited, and even within 
its limits its possibilities are circumscribed. A 
body of English love-poetry from the earliest times 
to the present has appeared to me too great for 
representation within the space of a single volume. 
I have therefore contented myself with the fullest 
selection possible, down to the beginning of the 
present century. With the public favour for 
what I now present, it may, at some other 
moment, be my pleasure to offer a supplementary 
anthology, devoted exclusively to the nineteenth 
century — a period embracing a body of work 



5ntro&uctfon 

which, both from considerations of its extent 
and character, ought, I think, to stand alone. 

The volumes of English Verse edited by W. J. 
Linton and R. H. Stoddard have proved of 
service to me ; and I should express my especial 
indebtedness to Mr. Linton, who is at once a poet 
and critic of distinction, to say nothing of his 
other claims to remembrance. I owe much also 
to Mr. Frederick Locker-Lampson, whose Lottdon 
Lyrics are surely destined to live as long as 
humour can provoke a smile. His compilation of 
occasional verse, published under the title of 
Lyra Elegantiarum, is all that a compilation 
should be, — a model of taste and discretion, well 
deserving the tribute of praise it has won from Mr. 
Swinburne. I have not hesitated in certain in- 
stances to follow the lead of Mr. Locker-Lampson, 
and many poems in his collection naturally take 
their places in these pages. I must also add my 
humble testimony to the services rendered to 
poetry by that indefatigable seeker after the good 
things contained in our old song-books, Mr. A, 
H. Bullen. Every lover of erotic verse is under a 
debt of gratitude to a compiler and critic so faith- 
ful and so earnest. 



^ntro^uctfon 

The curious may attempt an estimate of the 
claims to a first place among the English laureates 
of love. In my judgment, the palm lies with 
Shakespeare, Jonson, and Herrick. Together 
they occupy a considerable portion of this collec- 
tion, and had I consulted my own fancy only I 
might have quoted so much more as to cause the 
disappearance of some minor writers who were 
fairly entitled to their place. To me no such 
limited selection from Herrick as I am able to 
offer seems wholly satisfactory, for, as he was the 
latest in the golden age of lyric poetry, so he was, 
as a laureate of love, perhaps quite the best ; and 
to know him in every mood and temper his work 
must be read as a whole. Marlowe commanded 
hosts of imitators ; but if, as Mr. Swinburne says, 
Herrick took the author of ' The Passionate Shep- 
herd to his Love ' as his first master and first 
model in lyric poetry, he abandoned his early 
discipleship in favour of Shakespeare, and his own 
mellowed companion, Ben Jonson, who took 
such pleasure in Herrick's verses as to number 
their author among his ' sons.' 

But it is not easy to frame any appreciation of 
the laureates of love without regard to their other 



3ntroC»uctiou 

lyric work. Shakespeare's eminence as a song- 
writer was only less than his eminence as a 
dramatic poet. Ben Jonson gave a finish to his 
songs which commands enthusiastic admiration, 
and surely the play of quick and subtle fancy is 
the only quality proper to the best songs which 
even the hypercritical mind could suggest as to 
some extent wanting. Of the songs found in the 
plays associated with the names of Beaumont and 
Fletcher, it may be said in a word that they are 
full of grace and charm, and, like Shakespeare's, 
have always an exquisite dramatic setting. The 
bridal song from Two Noble Kinsmen — a play 
attributed in the edition of 1643 to Fletcher and 
Shakespeare — appears here under the name 
of the former writer, together with other songs 
contributed by him to the plays written in con- 
junction with Beaumont. The song may be 
Shakespeare's, but if it was not Avritten by Fletcher, 
he can least afford to lose it, and it adds little to 
the reputation of the other genius with whose name 
it is associated. 'Take, oh ! take those lips away ' 
occurs in Measure for Measure, and, with an 
additional stanza, in Beaumont and Fletcher's play, 
Rollo, Duke of Norma?idy. Whether Shakespeare 



introduction 

wrote the whole of the song, or only the first stanza, 
or accepted only what he wanted of what was 
already made for him, is perhaps not clear. 

In order of time, the joyous note of Herrick 
was next heard. Mr, Swinburne has lately ex- 
pressed his admiration of Herrick in an edition 
of The Muses' Library. He says : — 

*As a creative and inventive singer, he surpasses 
all his rivals in quantity of good work ; in quality of 
spontaneous instinct and melodious inspiration he 
reminds us, by frequent and flawless evidence, who, 
above all others, must beyond all doubt have been 
his first master and his first model in lyric poetry — 
the author of 'The Passionate Shepherd to his Love.' 

' The last of his line, he is and will probably be 
always the first in rank and station of English song- 
writers.' 

Following the humanity of Herrick, there come 
the elegance of Waller, the wit of Suckling, the 
intensity of Lovelace, the pretty imaginings of 
Cowley, and the humour of Sedley. After that 
the great song-birds of English love become for a 
time extinct. 

Some of these poets may be inadequately repre- 
sented in this collection. The reader's favourite 
may be missing. It is natural to an anthology 



3ntro5uction 

like this that the eminence of many writers is but 
faintly indicated in its pages. Milton, for example, 
can be represented in a collection of love-poetry 
only by a translation of one of his Italian sonnets ; 
and 'glorious John Dryden' is seen in songs 
which, though admirable in themselves, are by no 
means on the level of his best work. Such poets 
are scantily quoted, for no worse reason than that 
they devoted little or no attention to the making 
of such butterflies in poetry as take wing in this 
little book. In the cases of other poets, certain 
poems that are of great poetical merit have had to 
be omitted, because too highly flavoured, too 
boisterous in movement, or too direct in senti- 
ment. Also, as curtailment was necessary for 
reasons of space, many of the minor poets of the 
Restoration, and of the period following, have 
been cut out to make way for the more important 
body of writers who flourished early this century, 
though born prior to iSoi. Of these I may 
name William Habington, Sir William Killigrew, 
Thomas Randolph, Owen Feltham, William Cart- 
wright, Henry Glapthorne, Richard Crashaw, Sir 
Edward Sherburne, Andrew Marvell, Thomas 
Stanley, Aphra Behn, Thomas Flatman, Richard 



introduction 

Duke, Sir John Vanbrugh, Nicholas Rowe, Dr. 
Isaac Watts, William Somerville, Sir Charles Han- 
bury Williams, Edward Moore, William Shen- 
stone, James Hammond, William Thompson, 
Edward Lovibond, Mark Akenside, and Nathaniel 
Cotton. The same reason that has prevented 
the appearance of these authors has caused 
the curtailment of others, notably Waller, 
Suckling, Lovelace, Cowley, Browne, Dryden, 
Etherege, Sedley, and Prior, Indeed, it would 
not wrong the truth to say that not without 
pain I have been compelled to hold my hand 
at nearly every section of this anthology, but 
especially in that part of it which lies between 
Herrick and Cowper. This is urged only as a 
plea addressed to the bibliographer and the lover 
of erotic verse, for I can well believe that the 
sacrifices which have cost me so much will not 
bring many pangs to the general lover of love- 
poetry. 

There once were days in England when it was 
an indispensable accomplishment of every man of 
blood and breeding to write tolerable and reput- 
able love-songs. So numerous are the fugitive 
pieces, that I have been compelled to leave out 



S^ntro&uction 

altogether those to which no name could be 
attached. They are the waifs and strays of Utera- 
ture, and, put together, their unknown authors 
would make a crowded nest of singing-birds. 
They should not on any account be consigned in 
a body to oblivion. Many of them are well 
worthy of preservation. 

It is interesting to observe the different moods 
in which the poets have approached the theme of 
love. They sing their love-songs with energy and 
persistency, brooking rebuff and even rejection, 
and still in one sense they come up smiling. Only 
actual disdain or contempt of love is, in their 
loyalty to Love their King, a capital and unpar- 
donable offence. 

Of lovers of every mood and variety, examples 
will be found in these pages. There is the true 
lover and the false lover, the constant lover and 
the jealous lover, the quiet lover and the boister- 
ous lover, the merry lover and the mournful lover, 
the humble lover and the conceited lover, the 
admiring lover and the pressing lover. We have 
the lover before marriage and the lover after mar- 
riage. Before marriage he passes through all the 
stages of passionate feeling. After marriage he 



introduction 

has comparatively little to say. Is the silence of 

his second state ominous ? Or is it the silence of 

a contented mind ? Thomas Rymer, a learned 

critic and a poet to boot, wrote (perhaps 

feelingly) — 

' 'Tis unwise to make it rattle, 
When we cannot break the chain.' 

The advice appears to have been thought good, 
for it has found general acceptance. 

Poets, nevertheless, there have been who 
have sung the joys of wedded love. Edward 
Moore, author of Fables for the Female Sex, and, 
with Garrick, of the tragedy The Gamester, 
says — 

' How blest has my time been ! what joys have I known, 
Since wedlock's soft bondage made Jessy my own* 
So joyful my heart is, so easy my chain, 
That freedom is tasteless, and roving a pain.' 

Bishop King is no less fervent, and Dr. Cotton 
no less faithful : — 

* Dear Chloe, while the busy crowd. 
The vain, the wealthy, and the proud. 

In folly's maze advance ; 
Though singularity and pride 
Be call'd our choice, we'll step aside, 

Nor join the giddy dance. 



introduction 

From the gay world we'll oft retire 
To our own family and fire, 

Where love our hours employs ; 
No noisy neighbour enters here, 
No intermeddling stranger near 

To spoil our heartfelt joys.' 

But the poets may be left to themselves. If 
they seem to live alternately in cold and heat, 
with adulation giving place to backbiting, they 
are at least always in most deadly earnest. And 
excessively impatient as the poet-lover is, he never 
fails to remind the lady who is dilatory in accept- 
ing his love, that time is on the wing. As Marvell 
has it — 



' The grave 's a fine and private place, 
But none, I think, do there embrace. ' 



R. H. C. 



CONTENTS 



JOHN SKELTON PAGE 

Mistress Margaret ...... i 

SIR THOMAS WYATT 

A Riddle of a Gift given by a Lady ... 4 

Of the Pains and Sorrows caused by Love . . 4 

The Complaint of a Deserted Lover ... 6 

A Description of such a One as He would Love . . 8 

To his Love, whom he had kissed against her will . 8 

HENRY HOWARD, EARL OF SURREY 

Description and Praise of his Love Geraldine . . 10 

A Praise of his Love ...... 10 

NICHOLAS GRIMALD 

A True Love ....... iz 

JOHN HARRINGTON 

Whence comes my Love . . . . .14 

EDWARD VERE, EARL OF OXFORD 

A Renunciation ...... 15 

GEORGE GASCOIGNE 

A Riddle -16 

The Arraignment of a Lover .... 17 

BARNABY GOOGE 

The Lover's Appeal ...... 20 

GEORGE PEELE 

Cupid's Curse . .... .23 



Contents 

EDMUND SPENSER PAGE 

Steadfast Love — Sonnet lix. . . . . 25 

Love in Absence — Sonnet lxxxviii. , . . z6 

SIR WALTER RALEIGH 

The Silent Lover ...... 27 

JOHN LYLY 

Song of Apelles ...... 29 

O Cupid I ....... 30 

SIR PHILIP SYDNEY 

Sonnet to Stella ... ... 31 

The Serenade ...... 32 

KULKE GREVILLE, LORD BROOKE 

Love for Love ...... 33 

HUMPHREY GIFFORD 

A Woman's Face ...... 35 

NICHOLAS BRETON 

Phillida and Corydon ..... 36 

Her Eyes ....... 37 

HENRY CONSTABLE 

A Pastoral Song ... . . .39 

Diaphenia ....... 42 

THOMAS LODGE 

Rosalind's Madrigal ...... 43 

Phillis ....... 45 

Love, Love, Love ...... 46 

THOMAS WATSON 

The Kiss ....... 47 

ROBERT GREENE 

The Shepherd's Wife's Song .... 48 

The Praise of Fawnia . . . . .50 

Samela ....... 51 



Contents 

SAMUEL DANIEL 

To Delia ..... 
Love is a Sickness .... 

CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE 

The Passionate Shepherd to his Love 

The Nymph's Reply (by Sir Walter Raleigh) 

JOSHUA SYLVESTER 

Abiding Love , • . . 



PAGE 

53 



MICHAEL DRAYTON 

Since there's no Help 
To his Coy Love 

WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE 

Men were Deceivers Ever . 

Love's Springtime 

Take, O take those Lips away 

Love like a Shadow 

Sweet-and-Twenty 

The Choice 

Love, whose Month is ever May 

Queen of Queens 

Silvia . 

Sonnet cxvi. . 



THOMAS CAMPION 

Return again .... 

Let us Live and Love 

Young Men's Vows .... 
Shall I come when the Evening Beams are set? 
Come, you Pretty False-eyed Wanton 

FRANCIS DAVISON 

Love ! if a God thou art . . , 

Dispraise of Love and Lovers' Follies 

A Comparison .... 

SIR HENRY WOTTON 

On his Mistress, the Queen of Bohemia 
2 xvii 



69 



78 



Contents 



THOMAS MIDDLETON 

The Welshwoman's Song (after a Kiss) 
What Love is like 

JOHN DONNE 

The Bait .... 
The Lovers' Request 

,, ,, (another Version) 

BEN JONSON 

Song to Celia .... 

The Kiss 

Begging another Kiss 

Charis, her Triumph . 

O do not Wanton with those Eyes . 

A Nymph' s Passion . 

That Women are but Men's Shadows 

Come, let us Enjoy the Shade 

Love and Death 

The Grace of Simplicity 

The Lover's Ideal . 

THOMAS HEYWOOD 

Go, pretty Birds ... 
Good Morrow 

BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER 

Take, oh ! take those Lips away 

Constancy 

The Student awakened by Love 

Speak, Love ! 

Hear what mighty Love can do 

A Bridal Song 

At Cupid's Shrine 

Swift-winged Love . 

Cupid 1 turn thy Bow 

The Lover's Legacy to his Cruel Mistres; 

To his Mistress 

JOHN FORD 

Since first I saw your Face . 

No more .... 



PAGE 

80 
81 

82 
84 
85 



87 
87 

88 
90 
90 
92 
52 
93 
94 
95 



99 
100 
100 

lOI 
lOI 

102 
103 
104 
105 
105 



107 
loS 



Contents 



SIR FRANCIS KYNASTON 

To Cynthia, on Concealment of her Beauty 

GILES FLETCHER 

Panglorie's Wooing Song . , . 

GEORGE WITHER 



PAGE 
log 



A stolen Kiss ...... 


"5 


A Love Sonnet ....,• 


ii6 


The Shepherd's Resolution . . . . . 


I20 


A Madrigal , .... 


121 


THOMAS CAREW 




To Celia ...... 


122 


Mediocrity in Love rejected 


123 


Loves Eternity ..... 


124 


The Primrose ..... 


125 


Disdain returned ..... 


125 


WILLIAM BROWNE 




The Syren's Song ..... 


127 


Welcome, Welcome . . . 


128 


HENRY KING, BISHOP OF CHICHESTER 




Dry those Fair Eyes .... 


130 


Tell rne no more ..... 


131 


ROBERT HERRICK 




Cherrie-Ripe ...... 


133 


Delight in Disorder ..... 


'34 


The Mad Maid's Song 


134 


The Primrose ..... 


136 


The Maiden-Blush ..... 


136 


The Headache a ..... , 


137 


A Ring presented to Julia .... 


137 


A Kiss 


138 


The Bracelet ....... 


139 


Love me Little, Love me Long . . . . 


139 


The Night Piece to Julia . . . . . 


140 


To the Virgins, to make much of Tim 


141 


Love palpable .... . . 


141 


To Electra — Leva looks for Love . . . . 


142 


To Dianeme ....... 


^« 



Contents 



ROBERT HERRICK — cotlthiued 

To Anthea, who may Command him anything 
To his Mistress .... 

To Electra — I dare not ask a Kiss . 
His Covenant , or Protestation to Julia 
To Julia — When thy Herrick dies . 



PAGE 

143 
144 
144 
14s 
14s 



WILLIAM STRODE 
Kisses 



146 



EDMUND WALLER 

Lines to a Girdle .... 
Lines to a Rose .... 

SIR WILLIAM D'AVENANT 

Who Look for Day before his Mistress wakes 

JOHN MILTON 

Charles, must I say .... 



SIR JOHN SUCKLING 

A Toast .... 

Why so Pale, fond Lover . 

SAMUEL BUTLER 

All Love, at first, like generous Wine 
Love is too great a Happiness . 

To his Mistress 
To the Same .... 



152 
IS3 



154 
154 
155 
155 



RICHARD LOVELACE 

To Althea, from Prison 

ABRAHAM COWLEY 

Love m her sunny Eyes 



156 
158 



ALEXANDER BROME 
Why I Love her 

THOMAS d'uRFEY 
Still Water . 



1S9 
160 



Contents 

CHARLES COTTON page 

Thou Fool . . . . . . . i6i 

JOHN DRYDEN 

Concealed Love ...... 162 

To Matilda, on the Anniversary of our Marriage . . 163 

A Pair well matched . ..... 164 

The Fair Stranger ...... 164 

SIR GEORGE ETHEREGE 

Beauty no Armour against Love .... 166 

CHARLES SACKVILLE, EARL OF DORSET 

Song : written at Sea in the first Dutch War, 1665, the 

night before an Engagement . . . .167 

SIR CHARLES SEDLEY 

We '11 all the world excel ..... 171 
Phillis is my only Joy ..... 172 

JOHN WILMOT, EARL OF ROCHESTER 

My Dear Mistress . . . . • -173 

Love and Life ...... 174 

JOHN SHEFFIELD, DUKE OF BUCKINGHAMSHIRE 

Come, Celia, let 's agree at last . . . • 175 

THOMAS OTWAY 

The Enchantment ...... 177 

ANNE FINCH, COUNTESS OF WINCHILSEA 

To my Husband ...... 178 

FRANCIS ATTERBURY, BISHOP OF ROCHESTER 

Written on a White Fan ..... 179 

WILLIAM WALSH 

The Despairing Lover . . . . .180 

An Epistle to a Lady who had resolved against Marriage 181 

MATTHEW PRIOR 

The Question to Lisetta ..... 183 
Lisetta's Reply ...... 184 



Contents 

JOHN POMFRET 

Lines to a Friend wishful to be Married . 

GEORGE GRANVILLE, LORD LANSDOWNE 
Loving at first Sight .... 

WILLIAM CONGREVE 

The Petition ..... 
False though she be . 

JOHN OLDMIXON 

I lately vow'd, but 'twas in haste • 

HENRY CAREY 

Love 's a Riddle .... 

JOHN HUGHES 

To a beautiful Lady, playing on the Organ 

ELIJAH FENTON 

The Rose ..... 

JOHN GAY 

Go, Rose, my Chloe's Bosom Grace . 

LADY MARY WORTLEY MONTAGU 

Dear Colin, prevent .... 
Colin's Answer .... 

RICHARD SAVAGE 

Verses to a Young Lady 

ROBERT DODSLEY 

The Parting Kiss .... 
The Borrowed Kiss .... 



SOAME JENYNS 

Cupid relieved 

HENRY FIELDING 
On a Halfpenny 



Contents 



GEORGE, LORD LYTTELTON 

To him that in an Hour must Die 

SAMUEL JOHNSON 
An Ode to Stella 



PAGE 

203 



RICHARD JAGO 

Absence . . . • 

WILLIAM WHITEHEAD 
The Double Conquest 

SAMUEL BISHOP 

To his Wife .... 

WILLIAM COWPER 

What is half so Delightful as a Wife 

If John marries Mary 

A Comparison . 

Delia ..... 

CHARLES DIBDIN 

If 'tis Love to wish you near 

WILLIAM BLAKE 

Cupid . • . . 

WILLIAM WORDSWORTH 

She was a Phantom of Delight 
She dwelt among Untrodden Ways 
I travelled among Unknown Men 

THOMAS DIBDIN 

The Lover's Promise 



SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE 
Names 

Love's Burial-place 
Glycine 
Not at Home 
Farewell to Love 
To a Lady 
Love . 
Love is a Sword 



206 
207 
208 



210 
210 
211 
211 



21S 
216 
216 



2l3 



219 

220 
221 
221 
222 
222 
223 
227 



Contents 



MATTHEW GREGORY LEWIS 
I never could Love till now . 

ROBERT SOUTHEY 

Love's Immortality , . 

CHARLES LAMB 



PAGE 

228 



lo Hester bavory . 










231 


A Sonnet on Christian Names .... 232 


WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR 


Dreams ....... 234 


Her Lips 










234 


Rose Aylmer. 










235 


Feathers 










23s 


The Maid's Lament . 










236 


To a Fair Maiden . 










237 


I held her hand 










237 


Tears . 










237 


Twenty years hence 










238 


While thou wert by 










238 


The Shortest Day . 










239 


Sympathy in Sorrow 










239 


The Grateful Heart . 










239 


Margaret 










240 


LEIGH HUNT 


Jenny kissed me ...... 241 


Silent Kisses ....... 242 


A Nun ....... 242 


To his Wife . 


. 


. 




. 


243 



HENRY KIRKE WHITE 

Why should I blush to own I love ? 

THOMAS LOVE PEACOCK 

Oh ! say not Woman's heart is bought 

' BARRY CORNWALL ' 
Love me if I live 
Is my Lover on the Sea 
I love him .... 



246 



247 
248 
248 



Contents 



LORD BYRON 

Maid of Athens, ere we part 

To Woman . 

She walks in Beauty . 

To Thyrza 

On Parting . 

The Girl of Cadiz 

PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY 
Love's Philosophy . 
Lines to an Indian Air 
Good-night .... 

FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS 

O ! if thou wilt not give thine heart 

JOHN KEATS 

On a Picture of Leander 
The Day is gone 
Keats' Last Sonnet . 

HARTLEY COLERIDGE 

She is not Fair to outward view 



JOHN HAMILTON REYNOLDS 

Go where the Water glideth gently ever 

THOMAS HAYNES BAYLY 
Do you r member 
The Vows of Men . 

THOMAS HOOD 

I love thee .... 
Love, I am jealous of a Worthless Man 
Let us make a Leap . 
See thy Lover humbled at thy Feet 

CHARLES JEREMIAH WELLS 
Kiss no more the Vintages . 



PAGE 

250 
252 

253 
253 
256 
257 



260 
261 
262 



263 



264 

265 
265 



2S7 
263 



269 
270 



271 
272 
273 
273 



Love Songs of English Poets 

1500-1800 

5obn Sfielton 

must have been born towards the latter end of the fifteenth century, for 
we find him early in the sixteenth century rector of Diss in Norfolk. 
His scholarship was highly esteemed by Erasmus, and Henry vil. 
made him tutor of the royal children. In the succeeding reign Skelton 
was much at Court. He made spirited attacks upon Cardinal Wolsey. 
His fearless speech placed him in danger, and for his protection from 
the minister he sought the right of sanctuary in Westminster Abbey. 
Sheltered by the Abbot Islip, he died in June 1529. Skelton's claims 
to poetical distinction have been a good deal contested. Gifford is at 
a loss to understand why Warton and other commentators should rail 
at him so vehemently. ' He was perhaps the best scholar of his day, 
and displays on many occasions strong powers of description, and a 
vein of poetry that shines through all the rubbish which ignorance has 
spread over it.' Southey says : ' The power, the strangeness, the volu- 
bility of his language, the intrepidity of his satire, and the perfect 
originality of his manner, render Skelton one of the most extraordinary 
poets of any age or country.' Campbell, on the other hand, finds 
Skelton's attempts at humour at once vulgar and flippant, and his style 
almost a texture of slang phrases, patched with shreds of French and 
Latin. So much for the critics. The canzonet quoted is in quite 
a different vein from his more serious and ambitious work. 

Mistress Margaret 

Merry Margaret, 
As midsummer flower, 
Gentle as falcon, 
Or hawk of the tower ; 

With solace and gladness, 
I 



Xove Songs 

Much mirth and no madness, 
All good and no badness ; 
So joyously, 
So maidenly, 
So womanly. 
Her demeaning 
In everything, 
Far, far passing 
That I can indite, 
Or suffice to write 
Of merry Margaret, 
As midsummer flower, 
Gentle as falcon. 

Or hawk of the tower ! 

As patient and as still, 
And as full of good will, 
As fair Isiphil, 

Coliander, 

Sweet Pomander, 

Good Cassander ; 

Steadfast of thought, 

Well made, well wrought, 

Far may be sought. 

Ere you can find 

So courteous, so kind. 
As merry Margaret 
This midsummer flower. 
Gentle as falcon, 
Or hawk of the tower. 

2 



Sir 'C:bomas M^att 

won great distinction in his day. He was born at Allington Castle in 
Kent in 1503, and all that is known of his youth is that at the age of 
twelve years he entered St. John's College, Cambridge, that he took 
his degree of bachelor three years later, and that of master in 1520. 
About this time he married Elizabeth, daughter of Lord Cobham. 
There was some question as to whether he travelled on the Continent 
immediately he left college. The distinct balance of testimony is that 
he did. A matter of greater concern was his introduction at Court about 
1524, and his reception into the King's household. He attracted great 
attention, partly by his handsome person and partly by his wit. One 
day the King (Henry viii.) feigned some conscientious scruples as to his 
separation from Queen Catharine, whereupon Wyatt exclaimed, ' Lord ! 
that a man cannot repent him of his sin without the Pope's leave.' 
Established in the favour of the King, Wyatt rendered his master 
service abroad, undertaking various important missions. At home, 
even a man of Wyatt's integrity did not escape the breath of suspicion, 
and it is said that Anne Boleyn was the inspiration of various poems. 
But the more serious allegation implied is discountenanced by the fact 
that not more than a month or two after the condemnation, in January 
1536, of Anne Boleyn for high treason, Wyatt was knighted, in July 
appointed to a command under the Duke of Norfolk in the army sent 
to suppress the rebellion in Yorkshire, and in still the same year 
selected to accomplish the delicate task of appeasing the suscepti- 
bilities of the Emperor Charles v., who had manifested some resentment 
at the treatment of Queen Catharine and the marriage with the ill-fated 
Boleyn. Lands and honours were conferred on Wyatt, who in his later 
years was constantly seeking to exchange the vitiated atmosphere of 
the Court for the quiet and repose of his own country home. In 1542 
he received his last summons from the King. This time he was directed 
to repair to Falmouth and welcome an ambassador from the Spanish 
Court, whose mission was an alliance against France. Wyatt hastened 
to obey, but the weather was cold and the roads bad. Overheating 
himself, he was seized with fever at Sherborne, and died within a 
few days. The verses of Sir Thomas Wyatt and the Earl of Surrey 
have been often likened, to the disadvantage however of Wyatt, who 



Xove Song0 

though of higher Intellectual attainment, had not Surrey's exacting 

taste, wealth of passionate feeling, or keen sensibility. Wyatt moulded 

many of his pieces on French and Italian models, which were being 

received in England with increasing favour. Here is one of the 

earliest riddles introduced into our language on the never-failing 

theme of which a close imitation by Gascoigne will 

be found on a later page. 



A Riddle of a Gift given by a Lady 

A LADY gave me a gift she had not ; 

And I received her gift which I took not ; 

She gave it me willingly, and yet she would not 

And I received it, albeit I could not. 

If she give it me, I force not ; 

And if she take it again, she cares not. 

Construe what this is, and tell not ; 

For I am fast sworn, I may not. 

Of the Pains and Sorrows caused 
by Love 

What meaneth this ! when I lie alone 
I toss, I turn, I sigh, I groan ; 
My bed meseems as hard as stone : 
What means this ? 

I sigh, I plain continually ; 
The clothes that on my bed do lie, 
Alwavs methink they lie awry ; 
What means this ? 
4 



Sft Cbomas TKHgatt 

In slumbers oft for fear I quake ; 
For heat and cold I burn and shake ; 
For lack of sleep my head doth ake ; 
What means this ? 

A mornings then when I do rise, 
I turn unto my wonted guise, 
All day after muse and devise ; 
What means this ? 

And if perchance by me there pass 
She unto whom I sue for grace, 
The cold blood forsaketh my face ; 
What means this ? 

But if I sit near her by, 
With loud voice my heart doth cry, 
And yet my mouth is dumb and dry ; 
What means this ? 

To ask for help no heart I have ; 
My tongue doth fail what I should crave ; 
Yet inwardly I rage and rave ; 
What means this ? 

Thus have I passed many a year, 
And many a day, though nought appear. 
But most of that that most I fear ; 
What means this ? 
5 



Xove Songs 

The Complaint of a Deserted 
Lover 

How should I 
Be so pleasant, 
In my semblant, 
As my fellows be ? 

Not long ago 
It chanced so, 
As I did walk alone, 
I heard a man, 
That now and than 
Himself did thus bemoan : 

'Alas ! ' he said, 
' I am betrayed. 
And utterly undone ; 
Whom I did trust, 
And think so just. 
Another man hath won. 

' My service due. 
And heart so true. 
On her I did bestow ; 
I never meant 
For to repent, 
In wealth, nor yet in woe. 

' Each western wind 
Hath turned her mind, 
6 



Sir tTbomas imigatt 

And blown it clean away : 
Thereby my wealth, 
My mirth, and health, 
Are driven to great decay. 

' Fortune did smile 
A right short while. 
And never said me nay ; 
With pleasant plays, 
And joyful days. 
My time to pass away. 

' Alas ! alas ! 
The time so was. 
So never shall it be. 
Since she is gone. 
And I alone 
Am left as you may see. 

* Where is the oath, 
Where is the troth, 
That she to me did give ? 
Such feigned words. 
With sely bourds. 
Let no wise man believe. 

' For even as I, 
Thus wofully, 
Unto myself complain : 
If ye then trust, 
Needs learn ye must, 
To sing my song in vain. 
7 



%ox>c Songs 

' How should I 
Be so pleasant, 
In my semblant 
As my fellows be ? ' 



A Description of such a One as He 
would Love 

A FACE that should content me wondrous well, 

Should not be fair, but lovely to behold ; 

Of gladsome chere, all grief for to expel ; 

With sober looks so would I that it should 

Speak without words, such words as none can tell : 

Her tress also should be of crisped gold. 

With wit, and these, perchance I might be tied. 
And knit again the knot that should not slide. 

To his Love whom he had kissed against 
her will. 

Alas ! Madam, for stealing of a kiss. 

Have I so much your mind therein offended ? 

Or have I done so grievously amiss. 

That by no means it may not be amended ? 

Revenge you then : the readiest way is this ; 

Another kiss, my life it shall have ended ; 

For to my mouth the first my heart did suck ; 

The next shall clean out of my breast it pluck. 



lbenr^ 1&owat& 



Earl of Surrey, exerted a greater influence on the current of English 
poetrj^ than can be estimated by the extent of his own work. His early 
years are shrouded in obscurity. He was born about 1517, and as he 
speaks of having spent his childish years with a king's son, there is a pre- 
sumption that this is a reference to his education at Windsor with the 
Duke of Richmond, who afterwards, by virtue of a dispensation obtained 
for the purpose (as it was supposed he came within the forbidden degrees 
of consanguinity), married his sister. Lady Mary Howard. Too strict 
an interpretation, however, has been placed on the phrase, as internal 
evidence would show. It is clear that he was a cup-bearer to Henry viii. 
in 1526, and that he and the Duke of Richmond, his firm and close 
friend, were in attendance upon the King on his visit to Boulogne in 
1532, and were present at the meeting of English and French sove- 
reigns. Brought thus early into Court life, he fell in with the prevailing 
custom and celebrated the graces of beautiful Geraldine in becoming 
verse. Coming under the influence of Petrarch, Surrey seems to have 
directed his genius in reproducing the form of his Italian model. When 
only fifteen years of age he was contracted in marriage to Lady Frances 
Vere, daughter of John, Earl of Oxford, the marriage itself taking place 
in 1535- The circumstance is of importance, as it was asserted later that 
he was a suitor for the hand of the Princess l\Iar>-, though, as a fact, 
Surrey was survived by his wife nearly twenty years. Another charge 
was that he had quartered on 'his escutcheon the arms of Edward the 
Confessor. He was entitled to this distinction, though his father, the 
Duke of Norfolk, had ceased to recognise it since falling into royal dis- 
pleasure. Bitter enemies were at Court, and they triumphed. Neither 
distinguished military service nor popular esteem served to befriend 
him in this hour of need, and on January 21st, 1547, he fell a victim of 
the English Nero, whilst his father escaped. Of the poem, 'A Praise 
of his Love,' Warton singles it out for especial commendation 
for the correctness of its versification, the polish of its 
language, and its musical modulation. 



Hove Songs 

Description and Praise of his Love 
Geraldine 

From Tuscane came my lady's worthy race ; 
Fair Florence was sometime their ancient seat. 
The western isle whose pleasant shore doth face 
Wild Camber's cliffs, did give her lively heat. 
Fostered she was with milk of Irish breast : 
Her sire an earl ; her dame of Prince's blood. 
From tender years, in Britain doth she rest, 
With kinges child ; where she tasteth costly food. 
Hunsdon did first present her to mine eyen : 
Bright is her hue, and Geraldine she hight. 
Hampton me taught to wish her first for mine ; 
And Windsor, alas ! doth chase me from her sight. 

Her beauty of kind ; her virtues from above ; 

Happy is he that can obtain her love ! 



A Praise of his Love 

WHEREIN ME REPROVETH THEM THAT COMPARE THEIR 
LADIES WITH HIS 

Give place, ye lovers, here before 

Than spent your boasts and brags in vain ; 

My lady's beauty passeth more 

The best of yours, I dare well sayen. 

Than doth the sun the candle light, 

Or brightest day the darkest night. 



Ibenrg "ffijowacJ) 

And thereto hath a troth as just 
As had Penelope the fair ; 
For what she saith, ye may it trust, 
As it by writing sealed were : 
And virtues hath she many mo' 
Than I with pen have skill to show. 

I could rehearse, if that I would, 
The whole effect of Nature's plaint. 
When she had lost the perfect mould, 
The like to whom she could not paint : 
With wringing hands, how she did cry, 
And what she said, I know it, aye. 

I know she swore with raging mind. 
Her kingdom only set apart, 
There was no loss by law of kind 
That could have gone so near her heart ; 
And this was chiefly all her pain ; 
' She could not make the like again. ' 

Sith Nature thus gave her the praise. 
To be the chiefest work she wrought ; 
In faith, methink! some better ways 
On your behalf might well be sought, 
Than to compare, as ye have done. 
To match the candle with the sun. 



IWicbolas 6rimal& 

There is some reason to believe that Nicholas Grimald (Grimoald or 
Grimaold) was the editor of the miscellany published by Tottel {Songes 
and Sontiettes, ■W7-itten by the ryght ho7i07-able Lorde Henry H award, 
late Earle of Surrey, and other. Apud Richardum Tottel, 1557. 
Cum privilegio) in which the poems of Surrey and Wyatt were first 
printed. He contributed to the collection, and two of his pieces 
were in blank verse. The dates of his birth and death are given as 
1519 and 1563, but there is no proof of the accuracy of either. He 
was a Huntingdonshire man, a Fellow of Merton, and a 
lecturer on rhetoric at Christ Church. 



A True Love 

What sweet relief the showers to thirsty plants we see, 
What dear delight the blooms to bees, my true Love is 

to me ; 
As fresh and lusty Ver foul Winter doth exceed. 
As morning bright with scarlet sky doth pass the evening's 

weed, 
As mellow pears above the crabs esteemed be, 
So doth my Love surmount them all, whom yet I hap to 

see. 
The oak shall olives bear, the lamb the lion fray. 
The owl shall match the nightingale in tuning of her lay. 
Or I my Love let slip out of mine entire heart : 
So deep reposed in my breast is She for her desert. 
For many blessed gifts, O happy, happy land ! 



IRfcbolas (5rimal& 

Where Mars and Pallas strive to make their glory most to 

stand ; 
Yet, land ! more is thy bliss that in this cruel age 
A Venus imp thou hast brought forth, so steadfast and so 

sage. 
Among the Muses nine a tenth if Jove would make, 
And to the Graces three a fourth, Her would Apollo take. 
Let some for honour hunt, or hoard the massy gold : 
With Her so I may live and die, my weal can not be told. 



'3 



5obn Ibarrinaton 

was held in favour by Queen Elizabeth on account of his early attach- 
ment to her cause. The following poem, which has often been 
attributed to his son, Sir John, was written 'on Isabella Markham, 
when I first thought her Fair ; as she stood at the Princess's 
Window, in goodly Attire, and talked to Divers in 
the Courtyard.' He died in 1582. 

Whence comes my Love 

Whence comes my love ? O heart ! disclose : 
'Twas from her cheeks that shame the rose, 
From lips that spoil the ruby's praise, 
From eyes that mock the diamond's blaze. 
Whence comes my woe ? as freely own : 
Ah me ! 'twas from a heart like stone. 

The blushing cheek speaks modest mind. 
The lips befitting words most kind ; 
The eye does tempt to love's desire, 
And seems to say — 'tis Cupid's fire : 
Yet all so fair but speak my moan, 
Sith nought doth say the heart of stone. 

Why thus, my love, so kind bespeak 
Sweet eye, sweet lip, sweet blushing cheek ; 
Yet not a heart to save my pain ? 
O Venus ! take thy gifts again : 
Make not so fair, to cause our moan, 
Or make a heart that 's like our own. 
14 



B&war& Dere 

Earl of Oxford, was one of the many courtier poets in Elizabeth's time. 

He held the office of Lord High Chamberlain, and had command of a 

ship in the fleet sent out to resist the Spanish Armada. He 

was born in 1534, and died in 1604. 



A Renunciation 

If women could be fair, and yet not fond, 
Or that their love were firm, not fickle still, 

I would not marvel that they make men bond 
By service long to purchase their good will ; 

But when I see how frail those creatures are, 

I muse that men forget themselves so far. 

To mark the choice they make, and how they change, 
How oft from Phoebus they do flee to Pan ! 

Unsettled still, like haggards wild they range, 
These gentle birds that fly from man to man ! 

Who would not scorn and shake them from the fist, 

And let them fly, fair fools, which way they list ? 

Yet for disport we fawn and flatter both. 

To pass the time when nothing else can please, 

And train them to our lure, with subtle oath, 
Till, weary of their wiles, ourselves we ease ? 

And then we say when we their fancy try. 

To play with fools, O what a fool was I ! 
IS 



George Oascoiane 

was the son of Sir John Gascoigne of Walthamstow, Essex, and it is 
said that he was disinherited by his father. He was born 1535 (7?), and 
was educated at Cambridge. He removed to Gray's Inn, but soon left 
for a military life in Holland under the Prince of Orange. As a result 
of a quarrel he resigned, and, returning to England, became attached 
to the Court of Eli:;abeth. He wrote masques for the Queen's entertain- 
ment. Also he was the author of several dramas, and, beside shorter 
poems. The Steele Glas, a satire, dedicated to Lord Grey of Wilton, a 
Puritan, to whom a year or two later Spenser acted as secretary in 
Ireland. Gascoigne translated a comedy from Ariosto, and a 
tragedy from Euripides. He died 1577. 



A Riddle 

A LADY once did ask of me 
This pretty thing in privity : 
'Good sir,' quoth she, ' fain would I crave 
One thing which you yourself not have : 
Nor never had yet in times past, 
Nor never shall while life doth last. 
And if you seek to find it out, 
You lose your labour out of doubt. 
Yet if you love me as you say, 
Then give it me, for sure you may.' 
16 



(Beorge ©ascoigne 



The Arraignment of a Lover 

At Beauty's Bar as I did stand, 
When False Suspect accused me, 

George ! quoth the Judge, hold up thy hand 
Thou art arraigned of Flattery : 

Tell therefore how thou wilt be tried ! 

"Whose judgment here wilt thou abide ? 

My Lord ! quoth I, this Lady here, 
Whom I esteem above the rest. 

Doth know my guilt, if any were : 

Wherefore her doom shall please me best. 

Let her be judge and juror both 

To try me, guiltless by mine oath. 

Quoth Beauty : No ! it fitteth not 
A Prince herself to judge the cause : 

Will is our Justice, well you wot. 
Appointed to discuss our laws. 

If you will guiltless seem to go, 

God and your country quit you so ! 

Then Craft, the crier, called a quest. 
Of whom was Falsehood foremost fere ; 

A pack of pickthanks were the rest. 
Which came false witness for to bear : 

The jury such, the Judge unjust, 

Sentence was said I should be trussed. 
17 



%ox>e Songs 

Jealous, the gaoler, bound me fast 

To hear the verdict of the bill : 
George ! quoth the Judge, now thou art cast, 

Thou must go hence to Heavy Hill 
And there be hanged all by the head : 
God rest thy soul when thou art dead ! 



Down fell I then upon my knee, 
All flat before Dame Beauty's face. 

And cried : Good Lady ! pardon me, 
Which here appeal unto your grace : 

You know, if I appear untrue. 

It was in too much praising you. 

And though this Judge do make such haste 
To shed with shame my guiltless blood. 

Yet let your pity first be placed 

To save the man that meant you good ! 

So shall you show yourself a Queen, 

And I may be your servant seen. 



Quoth Beauty : Well ! because I guess 
What thou dost mean henceforth to be, 

Although thy faults deserve no less 
Than Justice here hath judged thee, 

Wilt thou be bound to stint all strife. 

And be true prisoner all thy life ? 
iS 



(Beorge (Snscoignc 

Yes, Madam ! quoth I, that I shall : 
Lo, Faith and Truth my sureties ! 

Why then, quoth she, come when I call ; 
I ask no better warranties. 

Thus am I Beauty's bounden thrall, 

At her command when she doth call. 



19 



Barnab^ Gooqc 



the son of the Recorder of Lincoln, was born at Alvingham about 1538 

(the date sometimes given is 1540) and died in 1594. The author was 

travelling in Spain (1562-3) when a friend at home published Eglogs, 

Epitaphes, and Somiettes. Upon his return to England he married, 

but continued to develop his poetic faculty nevertheless. 



The Lover's Appeal 

The rushing rivers that do run, 
The valleys sweet adorned new 

That lean their sides against the sun, 
With flowers fresh of sundry hue, 

Both ash and elm, and oak so high, 

Do all lament my woeful cry. 

While winter black with hideous storms 
Doth spoil the ground of summer's green. 

While spring-time sweet the leaf returns 
That late on tree could not be seen, 

While summer burns, while harvest reigns, 

Still, still do rage my restless pains. 

No end I find in all my smart. 
But endless torment I sustain, 
20 



Since first, alas ! my woeful heart 

By sight of thee was forced to plain, — 
Since that I lost my liberty. 
Since that thou madest a slave of me. 

My heart, that once abroad was free, 
Thy beauty hath in durance brought ; 

Once reason ruled and guided me, 

And now is wit consumed with thought ; 

Once I rejoiced above the sky. 

And now for thee, alas ! I die. 

Once I rejoiced in company. 

And now my chief and whole delight 
Is from my friends away to fly 

And keep alone my wearied sprite. 
Thy face divine and my desire 
From flesh have me transformed to fire. 

O Nature ! thou that first didst frame 

My lady's hair of purest gold. 
Her eyes of crystal to the same. 

Her lips of precious rubies' mould. 
Her neck of alabaster white, — 
Surmounting far each other wight : 

Why didst thou not that time devise. 
Why didst thou not foresee, before 
21 



Xove Songs 

The mischief that thereof doth rise 

And grief on grief doth heap with store, 
To make her heart of wax alone 
And not of flint and marble stone ? 

O Lady ! show thy favour yet : 
Let not thy servant die for thee ! 

Where Rigour ruled let Mercy sit ! 
Let Pity conquer Cruelty ! 

Let not Disdain, a fiend of hell, 

Possess the place where Grace should dwell ! 



22 



(5C0VQC ipeele 



was born about 1552, and died some time prior to 1598. He was 

a Devonshire man. Marlowe and Greene were among his friends, 

and he was known to both Shakespeare and Ben Jonson. T/ie 

Arraignvient 0/ Paris, from which the following song 

is taken, was played before Queen Elizabeth in 1584. 



Cupid's Curse 

y^none. Fair and fair, and twice so fair, 
As fair as any may be ; 
The fairest shepherd on our green, 
A love for any lady. 
Paris, Fair and fair and twice so fair, 
As fair as any may be : 
Thy love is fair for thee alone, 
And for no other lady. 
^n. My love is fair, my love is gay. 

As fresh as bin the flowers in May, 
And of my love my roundelay, 

My merry, merry, merry roundelay, 
Concludes with Cupid's curse, 

They that do change old love for new, 
Pray gods, they change for worse ! 
Anibo, simul. They that do change, etc. 
j^7t. Fair and fair, etc. 
Par. Fair and fair, etc. 
4 23 



Xove Songs 

y^n. My love can pipe, my love can sing, 
My love can many a pretty thing. 
And of his lovely praises ring 
My merry, merry roundelays. 

Amen to Cupid's curse, 
They that do change old love for new. 
Pray gods, they change for worse ! 



24 



i£&munt> Spenser 

The poetic distinction of Edmund Spenser can only be very inade- 
quately represented in a volume of this character. He was born in 
London in 1552, and was educated at Cambridge. In 1580 he became 
secretary to Arthur Lord Grey of Wilton, Viceroy of Ireland, and, later, 
Queen Elizabeth, in recognition of his services to the Crown, bestowed 
upon him 3000 acres in the county of Cork. Residence was imposed 
upon him, and it was here he wrote a considerable portion of his 
Faerie Quecne. He was regarded with fierce jealousy in Ireland, 
and ultimately the murmurings of the people gave place to action, 
and he had to leave his home with such precipitancy that it was 
said one of his children was lost in the firing of the old 
castle at Kilcolman. Broken in health and spirit when 
he reached London, he died there in 1599. 



Steadfast Love 

SONNET LIX. 

Thrice happy she ! that is so well assured 
Unto herself, and settled so in heart, 
That neither will for better be allured, 
Ne feared with worse to any chance to start ; 
But, like a steady ship, doth strongly part 
The raging waves, and keeps her course aright ; 
Ne aught for tempest doth from it depart, 
Ne aught for fairer weather's false delight. 
Such self-assurance need not fear the spite 
Of grudging foes, ne favour seek of friends ; 
25 



%ovc Songs 

But, in the stay of her own steadfast might, 
Neither to one herself nor other bends. 

Most happy she, that so assured doth rest ; 

But he most happy, whom such one loves best. 



Love in Absence 

SONNET LXXXVIII. 

Like as the Culver on the bared bough 
Sits mourning for the absence of her mate ; 
And, in her songs, sends many a wishful vow 
For his return that seems to linger late : 
So I alone, now left disconsolate. 
Mourn to myself the absence of my love ; 
And, wandering here and there all desolate. 
Seek with my plaints to match that mournful dove. 
Ne joy of aught that under heaven doth hove 
Can comfort me, but her own joyous sight : 
Whose sweet aspect both God and man can move, 
In her unspotted pleasance to delight. 

Dark is my day, whiles her fair light I miss. 
And dreading life that wants such lively bliss. 



26 



Sir Maltet IRaletcb 

won distinction as a statesman, scholar, and warrior. He was born in 
Devonshire in 1552, and was educated at Oxford. His soldier-Iilce 
qualities brought hiin into the favour of Queen Elizabeth, who knighted 
him, and made him a grant of lands. He engaged in various expedi- 
tions to America, and from his maiden sovereign Virginia received its 
name. Suspicion attached to him, and at the hands of the Queen he 
suffered various indignities, but it remained for her successor, James, to 
avail himself of a Court conspiracy to extinguish him. Raleigh was 
first found guilty of treason, then sentenced to death, reprieved, im- 
prisoned in the Tower, released, set to command another expedition ; he 
returned from it, was recharged, and in 1618 suffered dei:th. He wrote 
The History of the World during his twelve years' detention in jail, 
and was the author of various minor works. There is considerable 
doubt as to the authorship of many poems attributed to him. 
He has the reputation of having first introduced 
tobacco and potatoes into Europe. 



The Silent Lover 

Wrong not, sweet empress of my heart, 

The merit of true passion, 
With thinking that he feels no smart, 

That sues for no compassion ; 

Since, if my plaints serve not to approve 

The conquest of thy beauty, 
It comes not from defect of love, 

But from excess of duty. 
21 



Xove Songs 

For knowing that I sue to serve 

A saint of such perfection, 
As all desire, but none deserve, 

A place in her affection, 

I rather choose to want relief 
Than venture the revealing ; 

Where glory recommends the grief, 
Despair distrusts the healing. 

Thus those desires that aim too high 

For any mortal lover. 
When reason cannot make them die, 

Discretion doth them cover. 

Yet, when discretion doth bereave 
The plaints that they should utter, 

Then thy discretion may perceive 
That silence is a suitor. 

Silence in love bewrays more woe 
Than words tho' ne'er so witty ; 

A beggar that is dumb, you know. 
May challenge double pity. 

Then wrong not, dearest to my heart. 
My true, tho' secret passion ; 

He smarteth most that hides his smart. 
And sues for no compassion. 
28 



5obn %^l^ 



was born in Kent in 1553 or 1554 — earlier according to some authorities 
— and studied at both Universities. He attached himself to the Court of 
Elizabeth, and it is said that he was 'heard, graced, and rewarded ' by 
the Queen. The reward, whatever it was, came tardily, for after much 
seeking for the post of Master of the Revels, he had at last to ask ' for 
some little grant to support him in his old age.' He died about 1600. 
Lyly obtained much fame in his day by his Ejtphues, the Anatomy 
of Wit, and Euphues and his England. ' All our ladies were his 
scholars, and that beauty at court who could not parley Euphuism, 
that is to say, who was unable to converse in that pure and reformed 
English, which he had formed his work to be the standard of, was as 
little regarded as she who now there speaks not French' (Sir Henry 
Blount). Drayton speaks of Lyly's writing as 

'Talking of stones, stars, plants, of fishes, flies 
Playing with words and idle similes.' 

Lyly has also been accused of promoting a ' fantastic style of false wit, 

bombastic metaphor, and pedantic allusion' (Campbell). Lyly was, 

however, the author of plays of merit and renown ; among them 

Alexander and Campaspe (is^i,), and Mother Bombie(,is')'S),UQ\n 

which the subjoined two songs are respectively taken. 



Song of Apelles 

Cupid and my Campaspe played 
At cards for kisses ; Cupid paid : 
He stakes his quiver, bow and arrows, 
Jtlis mother's doves, and team of sparrows ; 
29 



%ove Songs 

Loses them, too ; then down he throws 

The coral of his lip, the rose 

Growing on 's cheek (but none knows how), 

With these the crystal of his brow, 

And then the dimple of his chin ; 

All these did my Campaspe win. 

At last he set her both his eyes, 

She won, and Cupid blind did rise. 

O Love ! has she done this to thee ? 

What shall, alas ! become of me? 



O Cupid! 

O Cupid ! monarch over kings. 

Wherefore hast thou feet and wings ? 

Is it to show how swift thou art. 

When thou woundest a tender heart ? 

Thy wings being clipped, and feet held still. 

Thy bow so many could not kill. 

It is all one in Venus' wanton school. 
Who highest sits, the wise man or the fool 
Fools in love's college 
Have far more knowledge 
To read a woman over, 
Than a neat prating lover : 
Nay, 'tis confessed, 
That fools please women best. 
30 



Sir HMMlip Si^&ne^ 

a soldier, a poel, and the friend of poets, was born at Penshurst Castle 
in Kent in 1554. Queen Elizabeth, it is said, exerted her influence to 
prevent Sydney from being elected King of Poland, ' refusing to further 
his advancement, out of fear that she should lose the jewel of her times." 
He received his death-wound in 1586 before Zutphen. Thirsty with loss 
of blood, he called for water, and he was putting the bottle to his mouth 
when he beheld the wistful glances of a dying soldier. He delivered the 
bottle of water to the poor man, saying, ' Thy necessity is yet greater 
than mine.' The stories indicate his eminence and generous character. 
His body was interred in St. Paul's Cathedral. He was the author 
of The Defence of Poesy and numerous sonnets. 



Sonnet to Stella 

My true Love hath my heart, and I have his, 
By just exchange one for the other given : 
I hold his dear, and mine he can not miss ; 
There never was a bargain better driven. 
His heart in me keeps me and him in one ; 
My heart in him his thoughts and senses guides ; 
He loves my heart, for once it was his own ; 
I cherish his, because in me it bides. 
His heart his wound received from my sight ; 
My heart was wounded with his wounded heart 
For, as from me on him his hurt did light, 
So still methought in me his heart did smart. 
Both equal hurt, in this change sought our bliss 
My true Love hath my heart, and I have his. 
31 



%ove Songs 
The Serenade 

* Who is it that this dark night 

Underneath my window plainelh?' — 
It is one who from thy sight 

Being (ah !) exiled, disdaineth 
Every other vulgar light. 

' Why, alas ! and are you he ? 

Are not yet these fancies changed ? ' — 
Dear, when you find change in me, 

Though from me you be estranged, 
Let my change to ruin be. 

' What if you new beauties see ? 

Will not they stir new affection ? ' — 
I will think they pictures be 

(Image-like of saint perfection) 
Poorly counterfeiting thee. 

* Peace ! I think that some give ear. 

Come, no more, lest I get anger.' — 
Bliss ! I will my bliss forbear. 

Fearing, sweet, you to endanger ; 
But my soul shall harbour there. 

' Well, begone : begone, I say. 

Lest that Argus' eyes perceive you.' — 

O ! unjust is Fortune's sway. 

Which can make me thus to leave you, 

And from louts to run away I 
32 



jfull^e Gvcvillc 



' servant to Queen Elizabeth, counsellor to King James, and friend to 
Sir Philip Sydney,' was the inscription he desired should be placed on 
his tomb. Queen Elizabeth held him in great favour, and James i. 
granted him Warwick Castle, and later raised him to the peerage as 
Baron Brooke. He was born in 1554, and died in 1628 from a 
stab wound inflicted by a revengeful servant. 



Love for Love 

Away with these self-loving lads, 

Whom Cupid's arrow never glads ! 

Away poor souls that sigh and weep, 

In love of those that lie asleep I 
For Cupid is a meadow god, 
And forceth none to kiss the rod. 

Sweep Cupid's shafts, like destiny. 

Do causeless good or ill decree ; 

Desert is borne out of his bow. 

Reward upon his wing doth go ! 

What fools are they that have not known 
That Love likes no laws but his own. 
33 



Xove Songs 

My songs tliey be of Cynthia's praise, 

I wear her rings on holy-days, 

In every tree I write her name. 

And every day I read the same. 

Where Honour Cupid's rival is. 
There miracles are seen of his. 

If Cynthia crave her ring of me, 

I blot her name out of the tree ; 

If doubt do darken things held dear. 

Then well-fare nothing, once a year ; 
For many run, but one must win. 
Fools only hedge the cuckoo in. 

The worth that worthiness should move. 

Is love, that is the bow of Love ; 

And love as well the foster can, 

As can the mighty noble-man : — 

Sweet saint, 'tis true, you worthy be. 
Yet, without love, nought worth to me. 



34 



Ibumpbre^ 6iftot:b 

was a Devonshire man. In 1580 there appeared Posic of Gillojiowcrs, 

eche differing from other in colour and odour, yet all sweete. 

By Hwnfrey Gifford, Gent. 



A Woman's Face 

A woman's face is full of wiles, 
Her tears are like the crocodil : 

With outward cheer on thee she smiles, 
When in her heart she thinks thee ill. 

Her tongue still chats of this and that, 
Than aspine leaf it wags more fast ; 

And as she talks she knows not what. 
There issues many a truthless blast. 

Thou far dost take thy mark amiss. 
If thou think faith in them to find ; 

The weather-cock more constant is, 
Which turns about with every wind. 

I know some pepper-nosed dame 
Will term me fool and saucy jack, 

That dare their credit so defame, 

And lay such slanders on their back : 

Wliat though on me they pour their spite 
I may not use the gloser's trade, 

I cannot say the crow is white, 

But needs must call a spade a spade. 
35 



IRfcbolas Breton 

was a pastoral poet in the time of Queen Elizabeth. He was born 
about 1555, and died in 1624. ' Phillida and Corydon,' says Percy, 
was one of the songs in ' The Honourable Entertainment gieven to 
the Queenes Majestie in Progresse at Elvetham in Hampshire, by 
the R.H. the Earle of Hertford, 1591.' In this pamphlet there is 
the following : — ' The thirde daies Entertainment. On Wednesday 
morning about g o'clock, as her Majestie opened a casement of her 
gallerie window, ther were 3 excellent musicians, who being disguised 
in auncient country attire, did greet her with a pleasant song of Corj'don 
and Phillida, made in 3 parts of purpose. The song, as well for the 
worth of the dittie, as the aptnesse of the note thereto applied, it 
pleased her Highnesse after it had been once sung to command it 
againe, and highly to grace it with her cheerefuU acceptance and 
commendation.' The poem also appears, EnglattcCs Helicon 
(1600). The textual variations to be observed in 
different editions are very many. 



Phillida and Corydon 

In the merry month of May, 
In a morn by break of day, 
With a troop of damsels playing 
Forth I rode, forsooth, a-maying, 
When anon by a woodside, 
Where as May was in his pride, 
I espied, all alone, 
Phillida and Corydon. 
36 



iRfcbolas :«Srcton 

Much ado there was, God wot ! 
He would love and she would not. 
She said, never man was true ; 
He says, none was false to you. 
He said, he had loved her long ; 
She says. Love should have no wrong. 
Corydon would kiss her then ; 
She says, maids must kiss no men 
Till they did for good and all ; 
Then she made the shepherd call 
All the heavens to witness, truth 
Never loved a truer youth. 
Thus, with many a pretty oath, 
Yea and nay, and faith and troth, 
Such as silly shepherds use 
When they will not love abuse, 
Love, which had been long deluded. 
Was with kisses sweet concluded ; 
And Piiillida, with garlands gay. 
Was made the Lady of the May. 



Her Eyes 

Pretty twinkling starry eyes ! 
How did Nature first devise 
Such a sparkling in your sight 
As to give Love such delight. 
37 



%ovc Qoms 

As to make him like a fly 
Play with looks until he die ? 

Sure ye were not made at first 
For such mischief to be cursed 
As to kill affection's care. 
That doth only truth declare : 
Where worth's wonders never wither, 
Love and Beauty live together. 

Blessed eyes ! then give your blessing, 
That in passion's best expressing 
Love, that only lives to grace ye, 
May not suffer pride deface ye ; 
But in gentle thoughts' directions 
Show the praise of your perfections ! 



3S 



•ffDcnr^ Constable 

found favour in the eyes of Ben Jonson, who speaks of Constable's ani- 

brosiac muse. Constable was a notable sonneteer, and in 1592 published 

Diana, the Praises of his Mistress, in certain szueet Sonnets, 

He was born about 1555, and died about 1615. 



A Pastoral Song between Phyllis and 

Amaryllis, Two Nymphs, each answering 

other Line for Line 



Fie on the slights that men devise, 

Heigh-ho, silly slights ; 
When simple maids they would entice. 

Maids are young men's chief delights. 

AMARYLLIS 

Nay, women they witch with their eyes. 
Eyes like beams of burning sun : 

And men once caught, they soon despise ; 
So are shepherds oft undone. 

PHYLLIS 

If any young man win a maid, 
Happy man is he ; 
5 39 



Xove Songs 

By trusting him she is betrayed ; 
Fie upon such treachery. 

AMARYLLIS 

If maids win young men with their guiles 

Heigh-ho, guileful grief : 
They deal like weeping crocodiles 

That murder men without relief. 



I know a simple country hind 

Heigh-ho, silly swain : 
To whom fair Daphne proved kind, 

Was he not kind to her again? 
He vowed by Pan with many an oath, 

Heigh-ho, Shepherds' God is he : 
Yet since hath changed, and broke his troth. 

Troth-plight broke will plagued be. 

AMARYLLIS 

She had deceived many a swain. 

Fie on false deceit : 
And plighted troth to them in vain, 

There can be no grief more great. 
Her measure was with measure paid, 

Heigh-ho, heigh-ho, equal need : 
She was beguiled that had betrayed, 

So shall all deceivers speed. 
40 



fbcm^ constable 

PHYLLIS 

If every maid were like to me, 

Heigh-ho, hard of heart : 
Both love and lovers scorned should be, 

Scorners shall be sure of smart. 

AMARYLLIS 

If every maid were of my mind, 
Heigh-ho, heigh-ho, lovely sweet : 

They to their lovers should prove kind, 
Kindness is for maidens meet. 



Methinks love is an idle toy, 

Heigh-ho, busy pain : 
Both wit and sense it doth annoy. 

Both sense and wit thereby we gain. 

AMARYLLIS 

Tush ! Phyllis, cease, be not so coy, 
Heigh-ho, heigh-ho, coy disdain : 

I know you love a shepherd's boy, 
Fie ! that maidens so should fain ! 



Well, Amaryllis, now I yield, 

Shepherds, pipe aloud : 
Love conquers both in town and field, 

Like a tyrant fierce and proud. 
41 



%ovc Songs 

The evening star is up, ye see ; 

Vesper shines ; we must away ; 
Would every lover might agree, 

So we end our roundelay. 



Diaphenia 

DiAPHENiA, like the daffadowndilly, 
White as the sun, fair as the lily ! 

Heigh-ho ! how I do love thee : 
I do love thee as my Iambs 
Are beloved of their dams. 

How bless'd were I if thou wouldst prove me. 

Diaphenia, like the spreading roses, 
That in thy sweet all sweet encloses. 

Fair Sweet ! how I do love thee : 
I do love thee as each flower 
Loves the sun's life-giving power : 

For dead, thy breath to life might move me. 

Diaphenia, like all things blessed 
When all thy praises are expressed, 

Dear Joy ! how I do love thee : 
As the birds do love the Spring, 
Or the bees their careful king : 

Then in requite, sweet Virgin ! love me ! 



42 



tTbomas %o^qc 



belonged to a Lincolnshire family, and was born about 1556. For a time 
he was an actor and dramatist, and was associated with Robert Greene 
in several productions. At one period of his career he was a student at 
Lincoln's Inn, but he relinquished law for medicine, and, taking warning 
by the fate of his co-worker, developed into a prosperous physician. He 
was the author of numerous poetical pieces, and translated Josephus. 
He is supposed to have died of the plague in 1625. 



Rosalind's Madrigal 

Love in my bosom like a bee 

Doth suck his sweet : 
Now with his wings he plays with me, 

Now with his feet : 
Within mine eyes he makes his nest, 
His bed amidst my tender breast, 
My kisses are his daily feast : 
And yet he robs me of my rest. 

Ah, wanton ! will ye ? 

And if I sleep, then percheth he 

With pretty flight, 
And makes his pillow on my knee 

The live-long night : 
43 



%o\>e Songs 

Strike I my lute he tunes the string, 
He music plays if so I sing, 
He lends me every lovely thing, 
Yet cruel he my heart doth sting. 
Whist, wanton ! still ye ! 

Else I with roses every day 

Will whip you hence ; 
And bind you when you long to play, 

For your offence : 
I '11 shut my eyes to keep you in, 
I '11 make you fast it for your sin, 
I '11 count your power not worth a pin ; 
Alas ! what hereby shall I win, 

If he gainsay me ? 

What if I beat the wanton boy 

With many a rod ? 
He will repay me with annoy. 

Because a god. 
Then sit thou softly on my knee. 
And let thy bower my bosom be ! 
Look in my eyes ! I like of thee : 
O Cupid ! so thou pity me, 

Spare not, but play thee ! 



44 



Q;boinas XoJjge 



Phillis 

Love guards the roses of thy lips, 

And flies about them like a bee : 
If I approach he forward skips, 

And if I kiss he stingeth me. 

Love in thine eyes doth build his bower. 
And sleeps within their pretty shrine ; 

And if I look the Boy will lour, 

And from their orbs shoot shafts divine. 

Love works thy heart within his fire, 
And in my tears doth firm the same ; 

And if I tempt it will retire. 

And of my plaints doth make a game. 

Love ! let me cull her choicest flowers. 
And pity me, and calm her eye ! 

Make soft her heart ! dissolve her lours ! 
Then will I praise thy deity. 

But if thou do not, Love ! I '11 truly serve her 

In spite of thee, and by firm faith deserve her. 



45 



Xove Qoms 



Love, Love, Love 

Turn I my looks unto the skies, 
Love with his arrows wounds my eyes ; 
If so I gaze upon the ground, 
Love then in every flower is found ; 
Search I the shade to fly my pain. 
Love meets me in the shade again ; 
Want I to walk in secret grove. 
E'en there I meet with sacred love ; 
If so I bathe me in the spring. 
E'en on the brink I hear him sing ; 
If so I meditate alone. 
He will be partner of my moan ; 
If so I mourn, he weeps with me, 
And where I am there will he be ! 



46 



XTbomas Matson 

was bom in London about 1557 and died about 1592. His most im- 
portant work was A Passionate Centurie of Loz'e, a series of so-called 
'sonnets' of eighteen lines each, preceded in every case 
by a short explanatory note. 



The Kiss 

In time long past, when in Diana's chace 

A bramble bush pricked Venus in the foot, 

Old ^sculapius helped her heavy case 

Before the hurt had taken any root : 

Where hence, although his beard were crisping hard, 

She yielded him a kiss for his reward. 

My luck was like to his, this other day. 
When She whom I on earth do worship most 
For kissing me vouchsafed thus to say — 
'Take this for once, and make thereof no boast !' 
Forthwith my heart gave signs of joy by skips. 
As though our souls had joined by kissing lips. 

And since that time I thought it not amiss 
To judge which were the best of all these three, — 
Her breath, her speech, or that her dainty kiss : 
And (sure) of all the kiss best liked me. 
For that it was which did revive my heart, 
Oppressed and almost dead with daily smart. 
47 



IRobert 6reene 

was born in Norwich in 1550 or 1560. He was educated at Cambridge, 
and it is said took orders. He certainly studied medicine, and equally 
certainly neither became a full-fledged clergyman nor physician. His 
life in London was that of the man of genius who loved pleasure and 
loathed restraint. Towards the end he was sustained by charity, 
and at the house of a poor shoemaker he died in 1592. 



The Shepherd's Wife's Song 

Ah, what is love ? It is a pretty thing, 
As sweet unto a shepherd as a king ; 

And sweeter too. 
For kings have cares that wait upon a crown, 
And cares can make the sweetest love to frown : 

Ah then, ah then, 
If country loves such sweet desires do gain, 
What lady would not love a shepherd swain ? 

His flocks are folded, he comes home at night, 
As merry as a king in his delight ; 

And merrier too, 
For kings bethink them what the state require. 
Where shepherds careless carol by the fire : 

Ah then, ah then, 
If country loves such sweet desires do gain, 
What lady would not love a shepherd swain ? 



IRobert ©reenc 

lie kisseth first, then sits as blithe to eat 

His cream and curds, as doth the king his meat ; 

And blither too. 
For kings have often fears when they do sup. 
Where shepherds dread no poison in their cup 

Ah, then, ah then. 
If country loves such sweet desires do gain. 
What lady would not love a shepherd swain ? 

Upon his couch of straw he sleeps as sound 
As doth the king upon his beds of down; 

More sounder too. 
For cares cause kings full oft their sleep to spill 
When weary shepherds lie and snort their fill : 

Ah then, ah then. 
If country loves such sweet desires do gain. 
What lady would not love a shepherd swain? 

Thus with his wife he spends the year, as blithe 
As doth the king at every tide or sith; 

And blither too, 
For kings have wars and broils to take in hand. 
When shepherds laugh and love upon the land : 

Ah then, ah then. 
If country loves such sweet desires do gain. 
What lady would not love a shepherd swain ? 



49 



Xove Songs 



The Praise of Fawnia 

Ah, were she pitiful as she is fair, 

Or but as mild as she is seeming so, 
Then were my hopes greater than my despair, 

Then all the world were heaven, nothing woe 
Ah, were her heart relenting as her hand. 

That seems to melt even with the mildest touch 
Then knew I where to seat me in a land 

Under wide heavens, but yet (I know) not such. 

So as she shows, she seems the budding rose. 
Yet sweeter far than is an earthly flower. 

Sovereign of beauty, like the spray she grows. 

Compassed she is with thorns and cankered flower 

Yet were she willing to be plucked and worn. 

She would be gathered, though she grew on thorn. 

Ah, when she sings, all music else be still, 

For none must be compared to her note ; 
Ne'er breathed such glee from Philomela's bill. 

Nor from the morning-singer's swelling throat, 
Ah, when she riseth from her blissful bed, 

She comforts all the world, as doth the sun. 
And at her sight the night's foul vapour's fled ; 

When she is set, the gladsome day is done. 
O glorious sun, imagine me the west, 
Shine in my arms, and set thou in my breast ! 
50 



IRobcrt (Breeiic 



Samela 

Like to Diana in her summer weed, 
Girt with a crimson robe of brightest dye, 

Goes fair Samela ; 
Whiter than be the ilocks that straggling feed, 
When washed by Arethusa faint they lie, 

Is fair Samela ; 
As fair Aurora in her morning grey, 
Decked with the ruddy glister of her love. 

Is fair Samela ; 
Like lovely Thetis on a calmed day, 
Whenas her brightness Neptune's fancy move, 

Shines fair Samela ; 
Her tresses gold, her eyes like glassy streams, 
Her teeth are pearl, the breasts are ivory 

Of fair Samela ; 
Her cheeks, like rose and lily yield forth gleams, 
Her brows' bright arches framed of ebony ; 

Thus fair Samela. 



SI 



Samuel Daniel 

a native of Devonshire, was born in 1563. He wrote a number of love 

poems entitled Delia, containiitg certain Sonnets, with the Complaint 

of Rosamond (1592), and besides some plays was the author of The 

Civil Wars between York and Lancaster, a poem in eight 

books (1595, 1599, 1609). He died in 1619. 



To Delia 

Look, Delia, how we esteem the half-blown rose, 
The image of thy blush, and Summer's honour ! 
Whilst yet her tender bud doth undisclose 
That full of beauty Time bestows upon her. 
No sooner spreads her glory in the air 
But straight her wide-blown pomp comes to decline ; 
She then is scorned, that late adorned the fair : 
So fade the roses of those cheeks of thine ! 
No April can revive thy withered flowers, 
Whose springing grace adorns the glory now, 
Swift speedy Time, feathered with flying hours, 
Dissolves the beauty of the fairest brow : 

Then do not thou such treasure waste in vain ; 

But love now, whilst thou mayst be loved again. 
52 



Samuel Daniel 
Love 

Love is a sickness full of woes, 

All remedies refusing ; 
A plant that most with cutting grows, 
Most barren with best using. 
Why so ? 
More we enjoy it, more it dies, 
If not enjoyed, it sighing cries 
Heigh-ho ! 

Love is a torment of the mind, 

A tempest everlasting ; 
And Jove hath made it of a kind 
Not well, nor full, nor fasting. 
Why so ? 
More we enjoy it, more it dies ; 
If not enjoyed, it sighing cries 
Heigh-ho! 



53 



Cbristopber /IBaiiowe 

' Kit Marlowe,' the son of a shoemaker at Canterbury, was born in 
1563-4. He was educated in that city at the King's School, and after- 
wards passed through Cambridge with credit. He soon became con- 
nected with the theatres, and it is said ' rose from an actor to be a 
maker of plays,' but there is no record to show that Marlowe was an 
actor before he was a playwright. He wrote several tragedies in blank 
verse, laying the foundation of English dramatic poetry. The circum- 
stances attending his death in 1593 are in question. A story of scandal 
is told, but it is wanting in contemporary proof. ' The Passionate 
Shepherd to his Love ' first appeared in The Passionate Pilgrime, and 
Sonnets to Sundry Notes of Rlusicke. By Mr. William Shakespeare. 
Lond., Printed for W. Jaggard, 1599. The fourth, sixth, and seventh 
stanzas were then wanting. There are other instances of work being 
falsely attributed to Shakespeare, ' for it is well known, that as he took 
no care of his own compositions, so was he utterly regardless of what 
spurious things were fathered upon him ' (Bishop Percy's Reliques of 
Ancient E7iglish Poetry, 1765). It is true that three or four lines 
appear in Merry Wives of Windsor^ iii. i, but Marlowe himself quoted 
a verse in one of his own plays. In that miscellaneous collection of 
poems, England's Helicon (1600), ' The Passionate Shepherd ' is given 
with Marlowe's name attached. Isaac Walton in his Contpleat Angler 
1653), it would seem, gives Marlowe credit for another verse beginning 
' Thy silver dishes for thy meat.' 

'The Nymph's Reply' was also attributed to Shakespeare. It is said 
that in the earliest copies of England's Helicon the verses were initialed 
' W. R.,' but that the common signature ' Ignoto' was afterwards pasted 
over. Every line almost in ' The Passionate Shepherd ' has undergone 
variations, and there have been numberless imitations and parodies. A 
reasonable explanation of the whole question of authorship would seem 
to be that Marlowe's lines displaced some less polished version of the 
theme. A memorial to Marlowe in the market-place of Canterbury 
was unveiled in September 1891 by Mr. Henry Irving, who bore 
eloquent testimony to the genius of the poet, and his influence 
upon the current of dramatic poetry. 

54 



Cbristopbcc /iftarlowe 



The Passionate Shepherd 
to his Love 

Come live with me and be my love, 
And we will all the pleasures prove 
That hills and valleys, dale and field, 
And all the craggy mountains yield. 

There will we sit upon the rocks 
And see the shepherds feed their flocks, 
By shallow rivers, to whose falls 
Melodious birds sing madrigals. 

There will I make thee beds of roses 
And a thousand fragrant posies, 
A cap of flowers, and a kirtle 
Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle. 

A gown made of the finest wool. 
Which from our pretty lambs we pull, 
Fair lined slippers for the cold, 
With buckles of the purest gold. 

A belt of straw and ivy buds 
With coral clasps and amber studs : 
And if these pleasures may thee move. 
Come live with me and be my love. 
55 



Xovc Songs 

Thy silver dishes for thy meat, 
As precious as the gods do eat, 
Shall on an ivory table be 
Prepared each day for thee and me. 

The shepherd swains shall dance and sing 
For thy delight each May-morning : 
If these delights thy mind may move, 
Then live with me and be my love. 



The Nymph's Reply to the Shepherd 

(by sir WALTER RALEIGH) 

If all the world and love were young, 
And truth in every shepherd's tongue, 
These pretty pleasures might me move, 
To live with thee and be thy love. 

But time drives flocks from field to fold 
When rivers rage and rocks grow cold ; 
And Philomel becometh dumb ; 
The rest complain of cares to come. 

The flowers do fade, and wanton fields 
To wayward winter reckoning yields ; 
A honeyed tongue, a heart of gall, 
Is fancy's spring, but sorrow's fall. 
56 



Cbdstopber /iRarlowe 

Thy gown, thy shoes, thy beds of roses, 
Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies, 
Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten 
In folly ripe, in reason rotten. 

Thy belt of straw, and ivy buds, 
Thy coral clasps and amber studs, 
All these in me no means can move. 
To come to thee, and be thy love. 

What should we talk of dainties, then, — 
Of better meats than 's fit for men ? 
These are but vain : that 's only good 
Which God hath blest, and sent for food. 

But could youth last, and love still breed. 
Had joys no date, nor age no need ; 
Then those delights my mind might move 
To live with thee and be thy love. 



57 



5oBbua S^lvestet 

was a London merchant who spent his leisure in producing some quaint 

poetical effusions, and a satire against tobacco entitled Tobacco 

battered and the pipe shattered. He also translated the chief 

work of Guillaume Saluste du Bartas, the French 

Protestant poet. Born 1563, died 1618. 



Abiding Love 

Were I as base as is the lowly plain, 
And you, my Love, as high as heaven above, 
Yet should the thoughts of me your humble swain 
Ascend to heaven, in honour of my Love. 
Were I as high as heaven above the plain, 
And you, my Love, as humble and as low 
As are the deepest bottoms of the main, 
Wheresoe'er you were, with you my love should go. 
Were you the earth, dear Love, and I the skies. 
My love should shine on you like to the sun, 
And look upon you with ten thousand eyes 
Till heaven waxed blind, and till the world were done. 
Wheresoe'er I am, below, or else above you, 
Wheresoe'er you are, my heart shall truly love you. 
58 



/iDicbael Drai^ton 

enjoyed the friendship of Shakespeare, and was himself a poet of great 
repute. He was born in Warwickshire in 1563, and died in 1631. He 
wrote a large body of poetry, notably Polyollion, 1612-18, a topo- 
graphical poem describing England and Wales, county by county, and 
introducing historical events. There are some thirty books in twelve- 
syllable verse — 30,000 lines. Mr. Hall Caine, in a note to Sonnets of 
Three Centuries, 1882, points out that there are many English sonnets 
treating of love-parting, and certain of the most notable of them are by 
Elizabethan and Victorian poets of great name, but by a general 
agreement of catholic opinion, this one, ' Since there 's no help,' 
is amongst all similar sonnets quite incomparable. As a 
piece of self-portrayal it is matchless. 



Sonnet 

Since there 's no help, come let us kiss and part, — 
Nay I have done, you get no more of me ; 
And I am glad, yea, glad with all my heart, 
That thus so cleanly I myself can free ; 
Shake hands for ever — cancel all our vows — 
And when we meet at any time again. 
Be it not seen in either of our brows 
That we one jot of former love retain. 

Now at the last gasp of Love's latest breath, 
When, his pulse failing, Passion speechless lies, 
When Faith is kneeling by his bed of death, 
And Innocence is closing up his eyes, — 

Now if thou wouldst, when all have given him over. 
From death to life thou might'st him yet recover ! 
59 



%ovc Songs 

To his coy Love 

I PRAY thee, love, love me no more. 

Call home the heart you gave me, 
I but in vain that saint adore. 

That can, but will not save me : 
These poor half kisses kill me quite ; 

Was ever man thus served ? 
Amidst an ocean of delight. 

For pleasure to be starved. 

Show me no more those snowy breasts, 

With azure rivers branched, 
Where whilst mine eye with plenty feasts. 

Yet is my thirst not staunched. 
O Tantalus, thy pains ne'er tell ! 

By me thou art prevented ; 
'Tis nothing to be plagued in Hell, 

But thus in Heaven tormented. 

Clip me no more in those dear arms. 

Nor thy life's comfort call me ; 
O, these are but too powerful charms. 

And do but more enthral me. 
But see how patient I am grown. 

In all this coil about thee ; 
Come, nice thing, let thy heart alone, 

I cannot live without thee. 
60 



MilUam Sbaftespeate 

Uniformity alone requires the well-known dates to be given here. 

Shakespeare was born at Stratford-on-Avon, on April 22nd, 1564, and 

in his eighteenth year he married Anne Hathaway. He removed to 

London, and after a period of great intellectual activity there, he 

returned to his native town, where he died April 23rd, i6i6. 



Men were Deceivers Ever 

{Much Ado about Nothing;) 

Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more ; 

Men were deceivers ever ; 
One foot in sea, and one on shore, 
To one thing constant never. 
Then sigh not so. 
But let them go. 
And be you blithe and bonny. 
Converting all your sounds of woe 
Into, Hey nonny, nonny. 

Sing no more ditties, sing no mo, 
Of dumps so dull and heavy ; 
61 



%ove Song0 

The fraud of men was ever so, 
Since summer first was leavy. 
Then sigh not so, 
But let them go. 
And be you blithe and bonny. 
Converting all your sounds of woe 
Into, Hey nonny, nonny. 



Love's Springtime 

(As You Like It) 

It was a lover and his lass, 

With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino. 
That o'er the green corn-field did pass, 

In the spring time, the only pretty ring time. 
When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding ; 
Sweet lovers love the spring. 

Between the acres of the rye, 

With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino. 
These pretty country folks would lie 

In the spring time, the only pretty ring time, 
When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding ; 
Sweet lovers love the spring. 

This carol they began that hour, 

With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, 
62 



William Sbakcspcare 

How that a life was but a flower 

In the spring time, the only pretty ring time, 
When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding ; 
Sweet lovers love the spring. 

And therefore take the present time. 

With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino ; 

For love is crowned with the prime 

In the spring time, the only pretty ring time, 

When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding ; 

Sweet lovers love the spring. 



Take, O take those Lips away 

{Measure ybr Measure) 

Take, O take those lips away. 

That so sweetly were forsworn ; 
And those eyes, the break of day. 

Lights that do mislead the morn : 
But my kisses bring again, 

bring again. 
Seals of love, but seal'd in vain, 

seal'd in vain. 



63 



Xove Songs 
Love like a Shadow 

(The Merry Wives of Windsor) 

Love like a shadow flies 

When substance love pursues ; 

Pursuing that that flies, 
And flying what pursues. 



Sweet-and-Twenty 

(Tivelfth Night) 

O MISTRESS mine ! where are you roaming ? 
O ! stay and hear ; your true love 's coming, 

That can sing both high and low. 
Trip no further, pretty sweeting ; 
Journeys end in lovers' meeting, 

Every wise man's son doth know. 

What is love ? 'tis not hereafter ; 
Present mirth hath present laughter ; 

What 's to come is still unsure : 
In delay there lies no plenty ; 
Then come kiss me, sweet-and-twenty. 

Youth 's a stuff will not endure. 
64 



TKHilliam Sbakespeare 
The Choice 

{Merchant of Venice) 

The Caskets 

The first, of gold, who this inscription bears: 
Who chooseth me shall gain what many ynen desire. 
The second, silver, which this promise carries : 
Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves. 
This third, dull lead, with warning all as blunt : 
Who chooseth me jutist give and hazard all he hath. 



All that glisters is not gold ; 
Often have you heard that told : 
Many a man his life hath sold 
But my outside to behold : 
Gilded tombs do worms infold. 
Had you been as wise as bold, 
Young in limbs, in judgment old. 
Your answer had not been inscroll'd 
Fare you well ; your suit is cold. 

SILVER 

The fire seven times tried this : 
Seven times tried that judgment is 
That did never choose amiss. 
65 



%ovc Songs 

Some there be that shadows kiss ; 
Such have but a shadow's bliss : 
There be fools alive, I wis, 
Silvered o'er ; and so was this. 
Take what wife you will to bed, 
I will ever be your head : 
So be gone, sir : you are sped. 

A song, whilst Bass an lo comments 
on the caskets to h wis elf. 

Tell me where is fancy bred, 
Or in the heart, or in the head ? 
How begot, how nourished? 

Reply, reply. 
It is engender'd in the eyes. 
With gazing fed ; and fancy dies 
In the cradle where it lies : 

Let us ring fancy's knell : 

I '11 begin it — Ding, dong, belL 

LEAD 

You that choose not by the view. 
Chance as fair, and choose as true 
Since this fortune falls to you, 
Be content and seek no new. 
If you be well pleas'd with this 
And hold your fortune for your bliss, 
Turn you where your lady is. 
And claim her with a loving kiss. 

66 



IClilUam Sbaftcspcare 
Love, whose Month is ever May 

{^Love's Labour 's Lost) 

On a day, alack the day ! 
Love ! whose month is ever May, 
Spied a blossom passing fair 
Playing in the wanton air : 
Through the velvet leaves the wind. 
All unseen, 'gan passage find ; 
That the lover, sick to death, 
Wished himself the heaven's breath. 
Air, quoth he, thy cheeks may blow ; 
Air, would I might triumph so ! 
But alack ! my hand is sworn 
Ne'er to pluck thee from thy thorn : 
Vow, alack ! for youth unmeet, 
Youth so apt to pluck a sweet. 
Do not call it sin in me. 
That I am forsworn for thee ; 
Thou for whom e'en Jove would swear 
Juno but an Ethiop were ; 
And deny himself for Jove, 
Turning mortal for thy love. 



67 



Xovc Songs 
Queen of Queens 

(Loz'e's Labour's Lost) 

So sweet a kiss the golden sun gives not 

To those fresh morning drops upon the rose, 
As thine eye-beams, when their fresh rays have smote 

The night of dew that on my cheeks down flows : 
Nor shines the silver moon one half so bright 

Through the transparent bosom of the deep. 
As doth thy face through tears of mine give light, 

Thou shin'st in every tear that I do weep : 
No drop but as a coach doth carry thee ; 

So ridest thou triumphing in my woe. 
Do but behold the tears that swell in me, 

And they thy glory through my grief will show : 
But do not love thyself ; then thou wilt keep 
My tears for glasses, and still make me weep. 
O queen of queens ! how far dost thou excel. 
No thought can think, nor tongue of mortal tell. 

Silvia 

(Two Gentlemen of Verona) 

Who is Silvia ? What is she, 

That all our swains commend her ? 

Holy, fair, and wise is she. 

The heavens such grace did lend her, 

That she might admired be. 
68 



•Qiauilam Sbaftespeare 

Is she kind as she is fair ? 

For beauty lives with kindness : 
Love doth to her eyes repair, 

To help him of his blindness ; 
And, being help'd, inhabits there 

Then to Silvia let us sing, 
That Silvia is excelling ; 

She excels each mortal thing 
Upon the dull earth dwelling ; 

To her let us garlands bring. 



Sonnet 

(No. cxvi.) 

Let me not to the marriage of true minds 

Admit impediments. Love is not love 

Which alters when it alteration finds, 

Or bends with the remover to remove : 

O, no 1 it is an ever-fixed mark, 

That looks on tempests and is never shaken ; 

It is the star to every wandering bark, 

Whose worth 's unknown, although his height be taken. 

Love 's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks 

Within his bending sickle's compass come : 

Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks. 

But bears it out even to the edge of doom. 

If this be en^or and upon me prov'd, 

I never writ, nor no man ever loved. 
69 



XTbomas Campion 

was a physician, a poet, and a musician. Mr. A. H. BuUen has been 
the means of bringing the poet's work forward again, and securing for 
it the public recognition it so well deserves. Mr. BuUen claims for 
Campion a place as an eminent composer and a lyric poet of the first 
rank. Campion wrote a volume of Latin verse. In 1601 he published 
A Book of Airs, both poetry and music, save such of the latter as was 
contributed by Philip Rosseter, coming from his pen. Other volumes 
appeared about 1613 and 1617. The subjoined poems are from these 
books. Whether or not they are all the work of Dr. Campion — the 
probabilities favour the idea that they must be — they are well worthy 
of being rescued from the forgotten song-books in which th.y 
were published. Campion died in 1619. 



Return again 

Sweet, come again ! 

Your happy sight, so much desired 
Since you from hence are now retired, 

I seek in vain : 

Still I must mourn, 

And pine in longing pain, 

Till you, my life's delight, again 

Vouchsafe your wished return ! 

If true desire. 

Or faithful vow of endless love. 
Thy heart inflamed may kindly move 

With equal fire ; 

70 



^bonias Canipton 

O then my joys, 

So long distraught, shall rest, 
Reposed soft in thy chaste breast, 

Exempt from all annoys. 

You had the power 

My wand'ring thoughts first to restrain, 

You first did hear my love speak plain ; 
A child before, 
Now is it grown 

Confirmed, do you it keep ! 

And let 't safe in your bosom sleep. 
There ever made your own ! 

And till we meet, 

Teach absence inward art to find, 

Both to disturb and please the mind. 
Such thoughts are sweet : 
And such remain 

In hearts whose flames are true ; 

Then such will I retain, till you 
To me return again. 

Let us Live and Love 

Vivainus, inea Lesbia, atquc avtemus (Catullus). 
My sweetest Lesbia, let us live and love, 
And though the sager sort our deeds reprove 
Let us not weigh them. Heaven's great lamps do dive 
Into their west, and straight again revive ; 

7 71 



Xove Songs 

But, soon as once set is our little light, 
Then must we sleep one ever-during night. 

If all would lead their lives in love like me, 
Then bloody swords and armour should not be ; 
No drum nor trumpet peaceful sleeps should move, 
Unless alarm came from the Camp of Love : 
But fools do live and waste their little light, 
And seek with pain their ever-during night. 

When timely death my life and fortunes ends, 

Let not my hearse be vext with mourning friends ; 

But let all lovers, rich in triumph, come 

And with sweet pastimes gr<ice my happy tomb : 

And, Lesbia, close up thou my little light 

And crown with love my ever-during night. 



Young Men's Vows 

' Maids are simple,' some men say, 
'They forsooth will trust no men. 

But should they men's wills obey, 
IMaids were very simple then. 

Truth a rare flower now is grown. 
Few men wear it in their hearts ; 

Lovers are more easily known 
By their follies than deserts. 
72 



n^bomas Campion 

Safer may we credit give 

To a faithless wandering Jew, 

Than a young man's vows believe 
When he swears his love is true. 

Love they make a poor blind child, 
But let none trust such as he ; 

Rather than to be beguiled. 
Ever let me simple be. 



Shall I come when the Evening Beams 
are set ? 

Shall I come, sweet Love, to thee 
When the evening beams are set ? 

Shall I not excluded be, 
Will you find no feigned let ? 

Let me not, for pity, more 

Tell the long hours at your door. 

Who can tell what thief or foe. 

In the covert of the night, 
For his prey will work my woe, 

Or through wicked foul despite ? 
So may I die unredrest 
Ere my long love be possest. 

But to let such dangers pass, 

Which a lover's thoughts disdain, 
73 



%ovc Songs 

'Tis enough in such a place 

To attend love's joys in vain : 
Do not mock me in thy bed, 
While these cold nights freeze me dead. 



Come, you Pretty False-eyed Wanton 

Come, you pretty false-eyed wanton. 

Leave your crafty smiling ! 
Think you to escape me now 

With slipp'ry words beguiling ? 
No ; you mocked me th' other day ; 

When you got loose, you fled away ; 
But, since I have caught you now, 

I '11 clip your wings from flying : 
Smoth'ring kisses fast I '11 heap 

And keep you so from crying. 

Sooner may you count the stars 

And number hail down-pouring. 
Tell the osiers of the Thames, 

Or Goodwin Sands devouring, 
Than the thick-showered kisses here 

Which now thy tired lips must bear. 
Such a harvest never was 

So rich and full of pleasure. 
But 'tis spent as soon as reaped, 

So trustless is love's treasure. 



74 



francfs Davison 



was the son of William Davison, Secretary of State to Queen Elizabeth, 
' who suffered so much through that princess's caprice and cruelty in the 
tragical affair of Mary Queen of Scots' (Ritson). Francis (1575 ?-i6 19), 
with his brother Walter(i5Si-i6o2-6), brought out in 1602 their Poetical 
Rhapsody, to which, besides themselves, Raleigh, Watson, Sylvester, 
and others were contributors. Francis gets the credit of ' Love ! be 
Merciful and Just,' and ' Dispraise of Love and Lovers' Follies,' but 
' A Comparison ' may be by either or both of the brothers. 



Love ! if a God thou art 

Love ! if a god thou art, 

Then evermore thou must 

Be merciful and just ; 
If thou be just, O wherefore doth thy dart 
Wound mine alone, and not my lady's heart ? 

If merciful ; — then why 

Am I to pain reserv'd, 

Who have thee truly serv'd, 
While she, that by thy power sits not afly. 
Laughs thee to scorn, and lives at liberty? 
Then, if a god thou wilt accounted be, 
Heal me like her, or else wound her like me. 
75 



%ove Songs 



Dispraise of Love and Lovers' Follies 

If love be life, I long to die. 

Live they that list for me : 
And he that gains the most thereby 

A fool, at least, shall be. 
But he that feels the sorest fits 
Scapes with no less than loss of wits : 

Unhappy life they gain. 

Which love do entertain. 

In day by fained looks they live, 

By lying dreams by night, 
Each frown a deadly wound doth give. 

Each smile a false delight. 
If 't hap the lady pleasant seem. 
It is for others love they deem : 

If void she seem of joy. 

Disdain doth make her coy. 

Such is the peace that lovers find, 

Such is the life they lead ; 
Blown here and there with every wind. 

Like flowers in the mead. 
Now war, now peace, now war again 
Desire, despair, delight, disdain : 

Though dead, in midst of life ; 

In peace, and yet at strife. 
76 



jfcancis 2)avisou 



A Comparison 

Some there are as fair to see too, 

But by art and not by nature ; 
Some as tall, and goodly be too, 

But want beauty to their stature ; 
Some have gracious, kind behaviour. 

But are poor or simple creatures ; 
Some have wit, but want sweet favour. 

Or are proud of their good features : 
Only you — and you want pity — 
Are most fair, tall, kind, and witty. 



77 



Sir Ibenrp Motton 

served James l. as ambassador at Venice. His experience in that 
capacity gives piquancy to his definition of an ambassador as ' an 
honest gentleman sent to lie abroad for the good of his country. 
Besides being a diplomatist and political writer, he was the author 
of The Elements of Architecture, and Tlie State of Chf-istendom, 
Late in life he entered holy orders, and became Provost of Eton. 
He was born in Kent in 1568, and died in 1639. 



On his Mistress, the Queen of Bohemia 

You meaner beauties of the night, 

That poorly satisfy our eyes 
More by your number than your light. 

You common people of the skies ! 

What are you when the moon shall rise? 

You curious chaunters of the wood, 
That warble forth Dame Nature's lays, 

Thinking your passions understood 

By your weak accents ; what 's your praise, 
When Philomel her voice shall raise ? 

You violets that first appear. 

By your pure purple mantles known 

Like the proud virgins of the year, 
As if the spring were all your own ; 
What are you when the rose is blown ? 
78 



Sir Ibenrs Wotton 

So, when my mistress shall be seen 
In form and beauty of her mind, 

By virtue first, then choice, a Queen, 
Tell me if she were not design'd 
The eclipse and glory of her kind ? 

This poem has undergone some variations, and the third verse 
sometimes is placed second. Percy reprinted it from Reliquiie 
Wottonia7ice (1651), with some corrections from an old manuscript 
copy ' written on that amiable princess, Elizabeth, daughter of 
James i., and wife of the Elector Palatine, who was chosen King 
of Bohemia, Sept. 5, 1619.' The song is to be found in a Scottish 
collection with these three additional verses, and attributed to Lord 
Darnley, 'written, it is said, in praise of the beauty of Queen Mary, 
before their marriage ' : — 

You glancing jewels of the East, 
Whose estimation fancies raise. 

Pearls, rubies, sapphires, and the rest 
Of glittering gems, what is your praise 
When the bright diamond shows his rays? 

But ah ! poor light, gem, voice, and sound, 
What are ye if my Maty shine ? 

Moon, diamond, flowers, and Philomel, 
Light, lustre, scent, and music tine, 
And yield to merit more divine. 

The rose, and lily, the whole spring, 
Unto her breath for sweetness speed ; 

The diamond darkens in the ring ; 

When she appears, the moon looks dead, 
As when Sol lifts his radiant head. 
79 



XTbomas /IIM&Meton 



was born in London probably about 1570, and died in 1627. He was 
the author of various plays, and in relation to one of them, A Game at 
Chess, fell into some disrepute by reason of complaints from the Spanish 
Ambassador that the King of Spain, Conde de Gondomar, and others 
were represented in this ' very scandalous corned y. ' M iddleton's genius 
seemed likely to fall out of sight, but Sir Walter Scott, Charles Lamb, 
Leigh Hunt, and within recent years Mr. Swinburne, have directed 
attention to him, whilst two editions of his works have appeared, 
the last one under the editorship of Mr. Bullen. 



The Welshwoman's Song 

AFTER A KISS 

Cupid is Venus' only joy, 

But he is a wanton boy, 

A very, very wanton boy ; 

He shoots at ladies' naked breasts, 

He is the cause of most men's crests, 

I mean upon the forehead, 

Invisible but horrid ; 

'Twas he first thought upon the way 

To keep a lady's lip in play. 

Why should not Venus chide her son 
For the pranks that he hath done, 
The wanton pranks that he hath done? 
80 



JTbomas /iftiOOletoti 

He shoots his fiery darts so thick, 
They hurt poor ladies to the quick, 
Ah me, with cruel wounding ! 
His darts are so confounding, 
That life and sense would soon decay, 
But that he keeps their lives in play. 

Can there be any part of bliss 

In a quickly fleeting kiss, 

A quickly fleeting kiss? 

To one's pleasure leisures are but waste. 

The slowest kiss makes too much haste. 

And lose it ere we find it ; 

The pleasing sport they only know 

That close above and close below. 



What Love is like 

Love is like a lamb, and love is like a lion ; 

Fly from love, he fights ; fight, then does he fly on 

Love is all on fire, and yet is ever freezing ; 

Love is much in winning, yet is more in leesing : 

Love is ever sick, and yet is never dying ; 

Love is ever true, and yet is ever lying ; 

Love does doat in liking, and is mad in loathing ; 

Love indeed is anything, yet indeed is nothing. 



5obn 'Bonne 



the son of a London merchant, was born in 1573, nd was educated at 
both Universities. He became secretary to Chancellor Ellesmere, but 
offended greatly by marrying Lady Ellesmere's niece. He interested 
himself in the controversy between the English Reformed Church and 
the Church of Rome, whilst his loyal views brought him into the favour 
of King James. The King urged him to enter the Church, and, after 
three years' delay, he consented. At the King's command, Cambridge 
conferred upon him the degree of Doctor of Divinity. A year or two 
later the King invited Donne to dinner, sat down himself, and pro- 
ceeded to address his guest thus : ' Dr. Donne, I have invited you to 
dinner ; and though you sit not down with me, I will carve you of a dish 
I know you love well ; for knowing you love London, I do, therefore, 
make you Dean of St. Paul's, and when you have dined, then take 
your beloved dish home to your study, say grace there to yourself, 
and much good may it do you.' Donne died in 1631. 



The Bait 

Come live with me and be my love, 
And we will some new pleasures prove, 
Of golden sands, and crystal brooks, 
With silken lines, and silver hooks. 

There will the river whisp'ring run, 
Warm'd by thy eyes more than the sun ; 
And there th' enamoured fish will stay, 
Begging themselves they may betray. 
82 



Jobn Bonne 

When wilt thou swim in that live bath, 
Each fish, which every channel hath, 
Most amorously to thee will swim, 
Gladder to catch thee, than thou him. 

If thou, to be so seen, be'st loath. 
By sun or moon, thou dark'nest both ; 
And if mine eyes have leave to see, 
I need not their light, having thee. 

Let others freeze with angling reeds, 
And cut their legs with shells and weeds. 
Or treacherously poor fish beset 
With strangling snares or windowy net ; 

Let coarse bold hands, from slimy nest, 
The bedded fish in banks outwrest ; 
Let curious traitors sleave silk flies. 
Bewitch poor fishes' wand'ring eyes ; 

For thee thou need'st no such deceit. 
For thou thyself art thine own bait ; 
That fish that is not catched thereby, 
Alas, is wiser far than I. 



8.^ 



%ovc Songs 



The Lover's Request 

Send back my long-stray'd eyes to me, 
Which, O ! too long have dwelt on thee 
But if from you they've learnt such ill, 

To sweetly smile. 

And then beguile, 
Keep the deceivers, keep them still. 

Send home my harmless heart again, 
Which no unworthy thought could stain ; 
But if it has been taught by thine 

To forfeit both 

Its word and oath, 
Keep it, for then 'tis none of mine. 

Yet send me back my heart and eyes. 

For I '11 know all thy falsities ; 

That I one day may laugh, when thou 

Shalt grieve and mourn — 

Of one the scorn, 
Who proves as false as thou art now. 



John Donne 

The Lover's Request 

(another version) 

Send home my long stray'd eyes to me, 
Which, oh ! too long have dwelt on thee ; 
But if they there have learn'd such ill, 

Such forc'd fashions 

And false passions. 

That they be 

Made by thee 
Fit for no good sight, keep them still. 

Send home my harmless heart again, 
Which no unworthy thought could stain ; 
But if it be taught, by thine. 

To make jestings 

Of pretestings, 

And break both 

Word and oath. 
Keep it still — 'tis none of mine. 

Yet send me back my heart and eyes. 
That I may know and see thy lies ; 
And may laugh and joy when thou 

Art in anguish, 

And dost languish 

For some one 

That will none, 
Or prove as false as thou dost now. 
85 



JSen 3onson 



was the son of a clergyman, at whose death his mother married a 
master bricklayer. Ben Jonson deserted his step-father's trade and 
enlisted, serving with the English troops in Flanders. In London he 
became actor and author and numbered Shakespeare among his friends. 
After the accession of James i. he was employed a good deal about 
Court. In 1617 he obtained a pension from the King, and was regarded 
as poet laureate. Successors in the pension appropriated the title. 
Ben Jonson was born in 1574, and died in 1637. 



•^ yng to Celia 

Drink to me only with thine eyes, 

And I will pledge with mine ; 
Or leave a kiss but in the cup, 

And I '11 not look for wine. 
The thirst that from the soul doth rise 

Doth ask a drink divine : 
But might I of Jove's nectar sup, 

I would not change for thine. 

I sent thee late a rosy wreath, 
Not so much honouring thee, 

As giving it a hope that there 
It could not withered be. 
86 



ascn 5onson 

But thou thereon didst only breathe, 

And sent'st it back to me ; 
Since when it grows, and smells, I swear, 

Not of itself, but thee. 



The Kiss 

O, THAT joy so soon should waste ! 

Or so sweet a bliss 

As a kiss 
Might not for ever last ! 
So sugared, so melting, so soft, so delicious. 

The dew that lies on roses, 

When the morn herself discloses. 
Is not so precious. 
O rather than I would it smother. 
Were I to taste such another ; 

It should be my wishing 

That I might die kissing. 



Begging another Kiss 

ON COLOUR OF MENDING THE FORMER 

For Love's sake, kiss me once again, 
I long, and should not beg in vain. 
3 87 



!lLove Songs 

Here 's none to spy, or see ; 

Why do you doubt, or stay ? 
I '11 taste as lightly as the bee, 
That doth but touch his flower, and flies away. 

Once more, and, faith, I will be gone ; 
Can he that loves ask less than one ? 
Nay, you may err in this, 

And all your bounty wrong : 
This could be called but half a kiss ; 
What we 're but once to do, we should do long ! 

I will but mend the last, and tell 
Where, how, it would have relished well ; 
Join lip to lip and try : 

Each suck the other's breath. 
And whilst our tongues perplexed lie. 
Let who will think us dead, or wish our death. 



Charis 

HER TRIUMPH 

See the chariot at hand here of Love, 

Wherein my lady rideth ! 
Each that draws is a swan or a dove, 

And well the car Love guideth. 
88 



3S3cn Jonson 

As she goes all hearts do duty 
Unto her beauty ; 

And enamour'd, do wish, as they might 
But enjoy such a sight, 
That they still were to run by her side, 
Through swords, through seas, whither she would 
ride. 

Do but look on her eyes, they do light 

All that Love's world compriseth ! 
Do but look on her, she is bright 

As Love's star when it riseth ! 
Do but mark, her forehead 's smoother 
Than words that soothe her ! 
And from her arch'd brows, such a grace 
Sheds itself through her face, 
As alone there triumphs to the life 
All the gain, all the good of the elements' strife. 

Have you seen but a bright lily grow, 
Before rude hands have touch'd it ? 

Have you marked but the fall o' the snow 
Before the soil hath smutch'd it? 

Have you felt the wool of the beaver? 

Or swan's down ever ? 

Or have smell'd o' the bud of the briar ? 

Or the 'nard in the fire ? 

Or have tasted the bag of the bee ? 

O so white ! O so soft ! O so sweet is she ! 



Xove Songs 



O do not Wanton with those Eyes 

O DO not wanton with those eyes, 

Lest I be sick with seeing ; 
Nor cast them down, but let them rise, 

Lest shame destroy their being. 

O be not angry with those fires, 
For then their threats will kill me ; 

Nor look too kind on my desires, 
For then my hopes will spill me. 

O do not steep them in thy tears, 

For so will sorrow slay me ; 
Nor spread them as distract with fears ; 

Mine own enough betray me. 



A Nymph's Passion 

I LOVE, and he loves me again, 

Yet dare I not tell who ; 
For if the nymphs should know my swain, 
I fear they 'd love him too ; 

Yet if he be not known, 
The pleasure is as good as none, 
For that 's a narrow joy is but our own. 
90 



JSen Jonson 

I '11 tell, that, if they be not glad, 

They may yet envy me ; 
But then if I grow jealous mad, 
And of them pitied be, 

It were a plague 'bove scorn : 
And yet it cannot be forborn, 
Unless my heart would, as my thought, be torn. 



He is, if they can find him, fair, 

And fresh and fragrant too. 
As summer's sky, or purged air, 
And looks as lilies do 

That are this morning blown : 
Yet, yet I doubt he is not known. 
And fear much more, that more of him be shown. 



But he hath eyes so round and bright. 

As make away my doubt, 
Where Love may all his torches light, 
Though hate had put them out : 

But then, t' increase my fears, 
What nymph soe'er his voice but hears 
Will be my rival, though she have but ears. 



I '11 tell no more, and yet I love, 
And he loves me ; yet no 
91 



%ove Songs 

One unbecoming thought doth move 
From either heart, I know ; 

But so exempt from blame, 
As it would be to each a fame, 
If love, or fear, would let me tell his name. 



That Women are but Men's Shadows 

Follow a shadow, it still flies you ; 

Seem to fly it, it will pursue : 
To court a mistress, she denies you ; 

Let her alone, she will court you ; 
Say are not women truly, then. 
Styled but the shadows of us men ? 

At morn and even shades are longest ; 

At noon they are or short, or none : 
To men at weakest, they are strongest. 

But grant us perfect, they 're not known. 
Say are not women truly, then, 
Styled but the shadows of us men ? 



Come, let us Enjoy the Shade 



Come, let us here enjoy the shade. 
For love in shadow best is made. 
92 



JSen 5onson 

Though envy oft his shadow be, 

None brooks the sunlight worse than he. 



Where love doth shine, there needs no sun, 
All lights into his one do run, 
Without which all the world were dark ; 
Yet he himself is but a spark. 



A spark to set whole v/orld a-fire, 
Who, more they burn, they more desire, 
And have their being, their waste to see ; 
And waste still, that they still might be. 



Such are his powers, whom time hath styled. 
Now swift, now slow, now tame, now wild ; 
Now hot, now cold, now fierce, now mild ; 
The eldest god, yet still a child. 



Love and Death 

Though I am young and cannot tell 
Either what death or love is well. 
Yet I have heard they both bear darts, 
And both do aim at human hearts ; 
93 



Xove Songs 

And then again, I have been told, 
Love wounds with heat, as death with cold ; 
So that I fear they do but bring 
Extremes to touch, and mean one thing. 



As in a ruin we it call. 
One thing to be blown up, or fall ; 
Or to our end like way may have. 
By a flash of lightning, or a wave : 
So love's inflamed shaft or brand, 
May kill as soon as death's cold hand ; 
Except love's fires the virtue have 
To fright the frost out of the grave. 



The Grace of Simplicity 

Still to be neat, still to be drest. 

As you were going to a feast ; 

Still to be powdered, still perfumed : 

Lady, it is to be presumed, 

Though art's hid causes are not found, 

All is not sweet, all is not sound. 



Give me a look, give me a face. 
That makes simplicity a grace ; 
Robes loosely flowing, hair as free : 
94 



33en Jonson 

Such sweet neglect more taketh me 

Than all the adulteries of art ; 

They strike mine eyes, but not my heart. 



The Lover's Ideal 

If I freely may discover 

What would please me in my lover, 

I would have her fair and witty. 

Savouring more of court than city ; 

A little proud, but full of pity ; 

Light and humorous in her toying ; 

Oft building hopes, and soon destroying ; 

Long, but sweet in the enjoying ; 
Neither too easy nor too hard, 
All extremes I would have barred. 

She should be allowed her passions. 
So they were but used as fashions ; 
Sometimes froward, and then frowning, 
Sometimes sickish, and then swooning, 
Every fit with change still crowning. 
Purely jealous I would have her, 
Then only constant when I crave her ; 
'Tis a virtue should not save her. 

Thus, nor her delicates would cloy me, ' 

Nor her peevishness annoy me. 

95 



Ubomas 1be^woo& 

is said to have been concerned in the authorship of two hundred and 
twenty plays, of which, however, only twenty-three have come down to 
us. He was a Lincolnshire man, and was for a period at Cam- 
bridge. He was born about 1575, and died about 1649. 



Go, pretty Birds 

Ye little birds that sit and sing 

Amidst the shady valleys, 
And see how Phillis sweetly walks. 

Within her garden-alleys ; 
Go, pretty birds, about her bower ; 
Sing, pretty birds, she may not lower ; 
Ah, me ! methinks I see her frown ! 

Ye pretty wantons, warble. 

Go, tell her, through your chirping bills. 

As you by me are bidden, 
To her is only known my love. 

Which from the world is hidden. 
Go, pretty birds, and tell her so ; 
See that your notes strain not too low, 
96 



For still, methinks, I see her frown. 
Ye pretty wantons, warble. 

Go, tune your voices' harmony, 

And sing, I am her lover ; 
Strain loud and sweet, that every note 

With sweet content may move her. 
And she that hath the sweetest voice. 
Tell her I will not change my choice ; 
Yet still, methinks, I see her frown. 

Ye pretty wantons, warble. 

Oh, fly ! make haste ! see, see, she falls 

Into a pretty slumber. 
Sing round about her rosy bed. 

That, waking, she may wonder. 
Say to her, 'tis her lover true 
That sendeth love to you, to you ; 
And when you hear her kind reply, 

Return with pleasant warblings. 

Good-Morrow 

Pack, clouds ! away, and welcome, day ! 

With night we banish sorrow : 
Sweet air ! blow soft ; mount, lark ! aloft : 

To give my love good-morrow. 
Wings from the wind, to please her mind, 

Notes from the lark I'll borrow : 
97 



%ove Song0 

Bird ! prune thy wing ; nightingale ! sing ; 
To give my Love good-morrow. 
To give my Love good-morrow 
Notes from them all I 'II borrow. 

Wake from thy nest, robin red-breast I 

Sing, birds ! in every furrow ; 
And from each hill let music shrill 

Give my fair Love good-morrow. 
Blackbird and thrush, in every bush, 

Stare, linnet, and cock-sparrow, 
You pretty elves ! amongst yourselves 

Sing my fair Love good-morrow. 

To give my Love good-morrow. 

Sing, birds ! in every furrow. 



98 



3Beaumont ant) jfletcber 

Singly and jointly, Beaumont and Fletcher were the authors of fifty-two 

plays. Francis Beaumont was the younger (born, 1585 ; died, 1616?), yet 

he is said to have exerted the restraining influence. His close friend and 

fellow-worker, John Fletcher (born, 1579 ; died, 1625), seems to have 

been the commanding genius. Indeed, Fletcher's wit and fancy were 

inexhaustible ; and besides having the reputation of an alliance with 

Shakespeare, he has had awarded him the lion's share of the 

credit attaching to the songs contained in the plays 

he wrote in conjunction with Beaumont. 



Take, oh ! take those Lips away 

Take, oh ! take those lips away, 
That so sweetly were forsworn ; 

And those eyes, like break of day. 
Lights that do mislead the morn ! 

But my kisses bring again, 

Seals of love, though sealed in vain. 

Hide, oh, hide those hills of snow, 
Which thy frozen bosom bears, 

On whose tops the pinks that grow 
Are yet of those that April wears ! 

But first set my poor heart free. 

Bound in those icy chains by thee. 
99 



%ove Songs 



Constancy 

Lay a garland on my hearse 

Of the dismal yew ; 
Maidens, willow branches bear ; 

Say, I died true. 

My love was false, but I was firm 
From my hour of birth. 

Upon my buried body lie 
Lightly, gentle earth ! 



The Student awakened by Love 

Beauty clear and fair, 
Where the air 

Rather like a perfume dwells ; 
Where the violet and the rose 
Their blue veins in blush disclose. 

And came to honour nothing else. 

Where to live near, 

And planted there, 
Is to live, and still live new ; 
Where to gain a favour is 
More than light, perpetual bliss, — 
Make me live by serving you. 
lOO 



:fi3eaumont anD fflctcber 

Dear, again back recall 
To this light, 

A stranger to himself and all ; 
Both the wonder and the story 
Shall be yours, and eke the glory : 

I am your servant, and your thrall. 



Speak, Love 

Dearest, do not delay me. 

Since, thou knowest, I must be gone ; 
Wind and tide, 'tis thought, doth stay me. 
But 'tis wind that must be blown 

From that breath, whose native smell 
Indian odours far excel. 

Oh, then speak, thou fairest fair ! 

Kill not him that vows to serve thee ; 
But perfume this neighbouring air, 

Else dull silence, sure, will starve me : 
'Tis a word that 's quickly spoken. 
Which, being restrained, a heart is broken. 

Hear what Mighty Love can do 

Hear, ye ladies that despise, 
What the mighty love has done ; 

Fear examples, and be wise : 
Fair Calisto was a nun ; 

lOI 



5Love Songa 

Leda, sailing on the stream 

To deceive the hopes of man, 
Love accounting but a dream, 
Doated on a silver swan ; 
Danae, in a brazen tower, 
Where no love was, loved a shower 

Hear, ye ladies that are coy, 

What the mighty love can do ; 
Fear the fierceness of the boy : 

The chaste moon he makes to woo ; 
Vesta, kindling holy fires, 

Circled round about with spies, 
Never dreaming loose desires, 

Doating at the altar dies ; 
Ilion, in a short hour, higher 
He can build, and once more fire. 



A Bridal Song 

{,Fr07>i ' Two Noble Kinsmen^ given in the first quarto edition of 
1634 to be the joint work 0/ Shakespeare and Fletcher.) 

Roses, their sharp spines being gone, 
Not royal in their smells alone. 

But in their hue ; 
Maiden-pinks, of odour faint, 
Daisies smell-less, yet most quaint, 

And sweet thyme true ; 
102 



aseaumont m\b ^Ictcbct 

Primrose, first-born child of Ver, 
Merry spring-time's harbinger, 

With her bells dim ; 
Oxlips in their cradles growing, 
Marigolds on death-beds blowing, 

Lark-heels trim. 

All, dear Nature's children sweet. 
Lie 'fore bride and bridegroom's feet, 

Blessing their sense ! 
Not an angel of the air. 
Bird melodious, or bird fair, 

Be absent hence ! 

The crow, the slanderous cuckoo, nor 
The boding raven, nor chough hoar. 

Nor chattering pie. 
May on our bride-house perch or sing. 
Or with them any discord bring, 

But from it fly ! 



At Cupid's Shrine 

Come, my children, let your feet 
In an even measure meet, 
And your cheerful voices rise. 
To present this sacrifice 
To great Cupid, in whose name, 
I his priest begin the same 
103 



%OK>c Songs 

Young men, take your loves and kiss ; 

Thus our Cupid honoured is ; 

Kiss again, and in your kissing 

Let no promises be missing ; 

Nor let any maiden here 

Dare to turn away her ear 

Unto the whisper of her love, 

But give bracelet, ring, or glove, 

As a token to her sweeting. 

Of an after secret meeting. 

Now, boy, sing, to stick our hearts 

Fuller of great Cupid's darts. 



Swift-winged Love 

Thou deity, swift-winged Love, 
Sometimes below, sometimes above. 
Little in shape, but great in power; 
Thou that makest a heart thy tower, 
And thy loop-holes ladies' eyes, 
From whence thou strikest the fond and wise ; 
Did all the shafts in thy fair quiver 
Stick fast in my ambitious liver, 
Yet thy power would I adore, 
And call upon thee to shoot more, 
Shoot more, shoot more ! 



104 



JSeaumont an^ jfletcber 



Cupid ! turn thy Bow 

Oh, turn thy bow ! 

Thy power we feel and know ; 

Fair Cupid, turn away thy bow I 

They be those golden arrows, 

Bring ladies all their sorrows ; 

And, till there be more truth in men, 

Never shoot at maid again ! 



The Lover's Legacy to his 
Cruel Mistress 

Go, happy heart ! for thou shalt lie 
Intombed in her for whom I die, 
Example of her cruelty. 

Tell her, if she chance to chide 
Me for slowness, in her pride. 
That it was for her I died. 

If a tear escape her eye, 
'Tis not for my memory, 

But thy rights of obsequy. 

The altar was my loving breast. 
My heart the sacrificed beast, 
And I was myself the priest. 
105 



%ovc Songs 

Your body was the sacred shrine, 
Your cruel mind the power divine, 
Pleased with the hearts of men, not kine. 



To his Mistress 

{This song, usually regarded as the ixtork of Francis Beazuttont, 
is sometimes attributed to Care^v.) 

Let fools great Cupid's yoke disdain, 
Loving their own wild freedom better, 

While proud of my triumphant chain 
I sit and court my beauteous fetter. 

Her murd'ring glances, snaring hairs. 
And her bewitching smiles, so please me, 

As he brings ruin that repairs 

The sweet afflictions that displease me. 

Hide not those panting balls of snow 
With envious veils from my beholding ; 

Unlock those lips their pearly row 
In a sweet smile of love unfolding. 

And let those eyes, whose motion wheels 

The restless fate of every lover, 
Survey the pains my sick-heart feels 

And wounds themselves have made discover. 
1 06 



Jobn jfor^ 



was bom at Ilsington in Devonshire in 1586. The law or the drama, 
or both, served him well for securing an independence. He is said 
to have returned to his native place and to have spent his later years in 
domestic comfort. He died about 1640. ' Ford,' says Charles Lamb, 
'was of the first order of poets. He sought for sublimity, not by 
parcels, in metaphors or visible images, but directly where she has 
her full residence, in the heart of men, in the actions and 
sufferings of the greatest minds.' 



Since first I saw your Face 

Since first I saw your face I resolved 

To honour and renown you ; 
If now I be disdained I wish 

My heart had never known you. 
^Vhat ! I that loved, and you that liked, 

Shall we begin to wrangle ? 
No, no, no, my heart is fast 

And cannot disentangle. 

The sun whose beams most glorious are 

Rejecteth no beholder. 
And your sweet beauty past compare. 

Made my poor eyes the bolder. 
107 



%ove Songs 

Where beauty moves, and wit delights 
And signs of kindness bind me, 

There, oh ! there, where'er I go 
I leave my heart behind me. 

If I admire or praise you too much, 

That fault you may forgive me, 
Or if my hands had strayed but a touch, 

Then justly might you leave me. 
I asked you leave, you bade me love ; 

Is't now a time to chide me? 
No, no, no, I '11 love you still, 

What fortune e'er betide me. 



No More 

Oh, no more, no more ! too late 

Sighs are spent : the burning tapers 
Of a life as chaste as fate, 

Pure as are unwritten papers, 
Are burn'd out : no heat, no light 
Now remains ; 'tis ever night. 
Love is dead : let lovers' eyes, 
Lock'd in endless dreams. 
The extremes of all extremes, 
Ope no more ! for now Love dies : 
Now love dies, — implying 
Love's martyrs must be ever ever dying. 
1 08 



Sir jfrancis IF^i^naston 

or Kinaston, was born at Otley in Shropshire ia 1587. He translated 

Chaucer's Troilus and Cressida into Latin, became regent of a literary 

institute called 'The Musaeum Minervse,' and was himself an English 

poet of some distinction in his day. He was knighted by 

Charles I. He died in 1642. 



To Cynthia, on Concealment of 
her Beauty- 
Do not conceal thy radiant eyes, 
The star-light of serenest skies ; 
Lest, wanting of their heavenly light, 
They turn to chaos' endless night ! 

Do not conceal those tresses fair. 
The silken snares of thy curl'd hair ; 
Lest, finding neither gold nor ore, 
The curious silk-worm work no more ! 

Do not conceal those breasts of thine, 
More snow-white than the Apennine ; 
Lest, if there be like cold and frost. 
The lily be for ever lost ! 
109 



Xove Songs 

Do not conceal that fragrant scent, 
Thy breath, which to all flowers hath lent 
Perfumes ; lest, it being suppresl. 
No spices grow in all the East ! 

Do not conceal thy heavenly voice. 
Which makes the hearts of Gods rejoice ; 
Lest, music hearing no such thing, 
The nightingale forget to sing ! 

Do not conceal, nor yet eclipse, 
Thy pearly teeth with coral lips ; 
Lest, that the seas cease to bring forth 
Gems which from thee have all their worth ! 

Do not conceal no beauty, grace 
That 's either in thy mind or face ; 
Lest Virtue overcome by Vice 
Make men believe no Paradise. 



Oiles iFletcber 



— the son of Giles Fletcher, who was sent ambassador to Russia in 1388, 
and brother of Phineas, the author of a long poem called The Purple 
Island, an allegorical description of Man in Spenserian verse, — was 
born about 1588 (earlier maybe) and died in 1623. Hischief work was a 
poem called Christ's Victory and Triutnph in Heaven and Earth, 
over and after Death (1610), and Panglorie (World-glory) in her 
bower of vain Delight 'sings this wooing-song to welcome 
Him withal.' Grosart edited his works (1876). 



Panglorie's Wooing Song 

Love is the blossom where there blows 
Everything that lives or grows : 
Love doth make the heavens to move, 
And the sun doth burn in love ; 
Love the strong and weak doth yoke, 
And makes the ivy climb the oak ; 
Under whose shadows lions wild, 
Soften'd by Love, grow tame and mild ; 
Love no medicine can appease ; 
He burns the fishes in the seas ; 
Not all the skill his wounds can stanch ; 
Not all the sea his thirst can quench ; 
III 



%ovc Songs 

Love did make the bloody spear 

Once a leafy coat to wear. 

Whilst in his leaves there shrouded lay 

Sweet birds for love that sing and play ; 

And of all Love's joyful frame 

I the bud and blossom am. 

Only lend thy knee to me ! 

Thy wooing shall thy winning be. 

See ! see the flowers that below 
Now as fresh as the morning blow ! 
And, of all, the virgin Rose, 
That as bright Aurora shows : 
How they all unleafed die, 
Losing their virginity, 
Like unto a summer shade, — 
But now born, and now they fade. 
Everything doth pass away : 
There is danger in delay. 
Come ! come gather then the Rose I 
Gather it, or it you lose ! 
All the sand of Tagus' shore 
In my bosom casts its ore ; 
All the valleys' swimming corn 
To my house is yearly borne ; 
Every grape of every vine 
Is gladly bruised to make me wine ; 
While ten thousand kings as proud 
To carry up my train, have bow'd, 
112 



0flc0 jfletcber 

And a world of ladies send me 
In my chamber to attend me : 
All the stars in heaven that shine 
And ten thousand more are mine. 

Only bend thy knee to me ! 

Thy wooing shall thy winning be. 



"3 



(Beorge Mttber 



was born at Bentworth in Hampshire in 1588, and was educated at 
Magdalen College, Oxford. After managing his father's farm for some 
time he came to London. His fearless satires brought him into trouble, 
and he was imprisoned for his work Abuses Stript and IVhipt {idi-^. 
Another publication resulted in his incarceration after the Restoration. 
Sir Egerton Brydges published an edition of his works, but gave this 
poem to Raleigh, admitting, however, that he had considerable doubt 
as to its authorship : — 



Love admits no Rival 

Shall I, like a hermit, dwell 
On a rock or in a cell, 
Calling Iiome the smallest part 
That is missing of my heart, 
To bestow it, where I may 
Meet a rival every day t 
If she undervalue me. 
What care I how fair she bet 

Were her tresses angel-gold, 
If a stranger may be bold, 
Unrebuked, unafraid, 
I'o convert them to a braid ; 
And with little more ado 
Work them into bracelets, too 1 
If the mine be grown so free. 
What care I how rich it be 1 

Were her hands as rich a prize 
As her hairs or precious eyes ; 
If she lay them out to take 
Kisses, for good-manners sake ; 
And let every lover skip 
From her hand unto her lip ; 
If she seem not chaste to me 
What care I how chaste she be ? 



114 



(Jeorgc Mitbcc 

No ; she must be perfect snow. 
In effect as well as show. 
Warming but as snow-balls do. 
Not like fire, by burning too ; 
But when she by change hath got 
To her heart a second lot ; 

Then, if others share with me, 

Farewell her, whate'er she be ! 

It certainly has a remarkable likeness to Wither's hand, but it may be 
the poem upon which The Shepherd s Resolution was designed. He 
was a prolific author, and in the autumn of life wrote Hymns and 
Songs for the Church. He died in 1667. Wither has been long in 
disrepute, and no less eminent a critic than Mr. Edmund Gosse, in 
his Gossip in a Library (1892), tells us, what is only too true, that 
Wither by his 'precautions,' 'personal contributions to the national 
humiliation," etc., 'really became the greatest bore in Christendom.' 
Mr. Gosse and other critics have, however, all admired 
Wither's early work. 



A Stolen Kiss 

Now gentle sleep hath closed up those eyes 

Which, waking, kept my boldest thoughts in awe 
And free access unto that sweet lip lies, 

From whence I long the rosy breath to draw. 
Methinks no wrong it were, if I should steal 

From those two melting rubies one poor kiss ; 
None sees the theft that would the theft reveal, 

Nor rob I her of aught that she can miss ; 
Nay, should I twenty kisses take away. 

There would be little sign I would do so ; 
Why then should I this robbery delay ? 

O, she may wake, and therewith angry grow ! 
Well, if she do, I '11 back restore that one, 
And twenty hundred thousand more for loan. 
115 



%OK>e Songs 



A Love Sonnet 

I LOVED a lass, a fair one. 
As fair as e'er was seen. 
She was indeed a rare one. 
Another Sheba Queene ; 
But foole as then I was, 
I thought she lov'd me too, 
But now, alas ! sh'as left me, 
Falero, lero, loo. 

Her hair like gold did glister, 
Each eye was like a star, 
She did surpass her sister 
Which past all others farre ; 
She would me honey call — 
She 'd oh — she 'd kiss me too. 
But now, alas ! sh'as left me, 
Falero, lero, loo. 

In summer time to Medley 
My love and I would go — 
The boatmen there stood ready 
My love and I to row ; 
For cream there would we call, 
For cakes, and for prunes too. 
But now, alas ! sh'as left me, 
Falero, lero, loo. 
ii6 



(Bcorge llOitbci; 

Many a merry meeting 
My love and I have had ; 
She vi^as my only sweeting, 
She made my heart full glad ; 
The tears stood in her eyes, 
Like to the morning dew, 
But now, alas ! sh'as left me, 
Falero, lero, loo. 

And as abroad we walked 
As lover's fashion is, 
Oft as we sweetly talked. 
The sun would steal a kiss ; 
The wind upon her lips 
Likewise most sweetly blew. 
But now, alas ! sh'as left me, 
Falero, lero, loo. 

Her cheeks were like the cherry, 
Her skin as white as snow, 
"When she was blythe and merry. 
She angel-like did show : 
Her waist exceeding small. 
The fives did fit her shoe. 
But now, alas ! sh'as left me, 
Falero, lero, loo. 

In summer time or winter. 
She had her heart's desire, 
I still did scorn to stint her, 
From sugar, sack, or fire. 
117 



%ove Songs 

The world went round about, 
No cares we ever knew, 
But now, alas ! sh'as left me, 
Falero, lero, loo. 

As we walk'd home together 
At midnight through the town. 
To keep away the weather — 
O'er her I 'd east my gown ; 
No cold my love should feel, 
Whate'er the heavens could do, 
But now, alas ! sh'as left me, 
Falero, lero, loo. 

Like doves we would be billing, 
And clip and kiss so fast, 
Yet she would be unwilling 
That I should kiss the last ; 
They 're Judas kisses now. 
Since that they prov'd untrue. 
For now, alas ! sh'as left me, 
Falero, lero, loo. 

To maiden's vows and swearing, 
Henceforth no credit give, 
You may give them the hearing — 
But never them believe ; 
They are as false as fair, 
Unconstant, frail, untrue ; 
Ii8 



eeotQC imitbct 

For mine, alas ! hath left me, 
Falero, lero, loo. 

'Twas I that paid for all things, 
'Twas other drank the wine, 
I cannot now recall things, 
Live but a fool to pine : 
'Twas I that beat the bush. 
The bird to others flew, 
For she, alas ! hath left me, 
Falero, lero, loo. 

If ever that Dame Nature, 
For this false lover's sake 
Another pleasing creature 
Like unto her would make. 
Let her remember this, 
To make the other true. 
For this, alas ! hath left me, 
Falero, lero, loo. 

No riches now can raise me, 
No want makes me despair. 
No misery amaze me, 
Nor yet for want I care : 
I have lost a world itself, 
My earthly heaven, adieu ! 
Since she, alas ! hath left me, 
Falero, lero, loo. 
lo 119 



%ovc Songs 



The Shepherd's Resolution 

Shall I, wasting in despair, 
Die because a woman 's fair ? 
Or make pale my cheeks with care 
'Cause another's rosy are ; 
Be she fairer than the day, 
Or the flowery meads in May, 
If she be not so to me, 
What care I how fair she be? 

Shall my foolish heart be pin'd 
'Cause I see a woman kind ? 
Or a well-disposed Nature 
Joined with a lovely feature ? 
Be she meeker, kinder than 
The turtle-dove or pelican. 
If she be not so to me, 
What care I how kind she be ? 

Shall a woman's virtues move 
Me to perish for her love ? 
Or her well-deservings known 
Make me quite forget mine own ? 
Be she with that goodness blest. 
Which may gain her name of Best, 
If she be not such to me. 
What care I how good she be ? 

120 



George imitber 

'Cause her fortune seems too high, 
Shall I play the fool and die ? 
Those that bear a noble mind 
Where they want of riches find, 
Think what with them they would do, 
That without them dare to woo : 
And unless that mind I see 
What care I how great she be ? 

Great, or good, or kind, or fair, 
I will ne'er the more despair : 
If she love me, this believe, 
I will die, ere she shall grieve. 
If she slight me when I woo, 
I can scorn and let her go : 
If she be not fit for me. 
What care I for whom she be ? 

A Madrigal 

Amaryllis I did woo. 
And I courted Phillis too ; 
Daphne for her love I chose, 
Chloris, for that damask rose 
In her cheek, I held so dear. 
Yea, a thousand liked well near ; 
And, in love with all together. 
Feared the enjoying either : 
'Cause to be of one possess'd, 
Barr'd the hope of all the rest. 

121 



Ubomas Catew 

was probably born in Gloucestershire in 1589. Shortly after his 
death, in 1639, there appeared the volume Poems by Thomas 
Carew, Esq., one of the Gentlemen of the Privie Chamber and 
Sewer in Ordinary to His Majesty {Charles /.), London (1640). 
Burns, meeting with the song 'The Primrose,' 'altered it a little 
(as he wrote to George Thomson), with a view to its publication 
in a collection. This is his version: — 

The Primrose 

Dost ask me why I send thee here 
This firstling of the infant year — 
Dost ask me what this Primrose shews, 
Bepearl'd thus with morning dews ? 

I must whisper to thy ears, 

The sweets of love are wash'd with tears,— 

This lovely native of the dale 

Thou seest, how languid, pensive, pale. 

Thou seest this bending stalk so weak. 
That each way yielding doth not break, 
I must tell thee, these reveal 
The doubts and fears that lovers feel." 

An interesting comparison may be made with the versions of the 
same theme by Carew (p. 125), and Herrick (p. 136). 



To Celia 

Ask me no more where Jove bestows, 
When June is past, the fading rose ; 
For in your beauties' orient deep 
These flow'rs, as in their causes, sleep. 
122 



Qlbomae Carew 

Ask me no more whither do stray 
The golden atoms of the day ; 
For, in pure love, heaven did prepare 
Those powders to enrich your hair. 

Ask me no more whither doth haste 
The nightingale when May is past ; 
For in your sweet dividing throat 
She winters, and keeps warm her note. 

Ask me no more where those stars light, 
That downwards fall in dead of night ; 
For in your eyes they sit, and there 
Fixed become as in their sphere. 

Ask me no more if east or west 
The phoenix builds her spicy nest ; 
For unto you at last she flies, 
And in your fragrant bosom dies. 



Mediocrity in Love rejected 

Give me more love, or more disdain ; 

The torrid or the frozen zone 
Brings equal ease unto my pain ; 

The temperate affords me none ! 
Either extreme of love or hate 
Is sweeter than a calm estate. 
123 



Xovc Songs 

Give me a storm ; if it be love, 

Like Danae in a golden shower 
I swim in pleasure ; if it prove 

Disdain, that torrent will devour 
My vulture hopes : and he 's possess'd 
Of Heaven, that 's but from hell releas'd 
Then crown my joys, or cure my pain ; 
Give me more love or more disdain. 



Love's Eternity 

How ill doth he deserve a Lover's name 

Whose pale weak flame 

Can not retain 
His heat in spite of absence or disdain, 
But doth at once, like paper set on fire, 

Burn and expire ! 
True Love can never change his seat ; 
Nor did he ever love that could retreat. 

That noble flame which my breast keeps alive 

Shall still survive 

When my soul 's fled ; 
Nor shall my love die when my body 's dead : 
That shall wait on me to the lower shade, 

And never fade ; 
My very ashes in their urn 
Shall, like a hallow'd lamp, for ever burn. 
124 



C^bomas Carevv 



The Primrose 

Ask me why I send you here 

This firstling of the infant year ; 

Ask me why I send to you 

This primrose all bepearl'd with dew ; 

I straight will whisper in your ears, 

The sweets of love are wash'd with tears ! 

Ask me why this flow'r doth show 

So yellow, green, and sickly too ; 

Ask me why the stalk is weak, 

And bending, yet it doth not break ; 

I must tell you, these discover 

What doubts and fears are in a lover. 



Disdain returned 

He that loves a rosy cheek, 

Or a coral lip admires. 
Or from star-like eyes doth seek 

Fuel to maintain his fires ; 
As old Time makes these decay, 
So his flames must waste away. 

But a smooth and steadfast mind, 
Gentle thoughts, and calm desires. 

Hearts with equal love combined. 
Kindle never-dying fires. 
125 



%ox>c Songs 

Where these are not, I despise 
Lovely cheeks or lips or eyes. 

No tears, Celia, now shall win 

My resolv'd heart to return ; 
I have search'd thy soul within, 

And find nought but pride, and scorn ; 
I have learn'd thy arts and now 
Can disdain as much as thou. 
Some power in my revenge convey 
That love to her I cast away. 

Of this song Carew certainly wrote the first two verses (printed 
under the title ' Outer Beauty '), but there is great doubt as to the 
authorship of the last stanza. Where this is included it is given under 
the altered heading. 



126 



Milliam Browne 

was bom at Tavistock in 1590. He was educated at Oxford, and 
proceeded thence to the Inner Temple. He was the author of 
Britannia s Pastorals, of which the first part was published in 1613, 
the second in 1616, whilst the third remained till 1851, when it was 
published from a manuscript copy in the Cathedral Library at Salisbury. 
Browne was tutor to Robert Dormer, Earl of Carnarvon, and afterwards 
enjoyed the patronage of the Earl of Pembroke. He died at Ottery St. 
Mary in 1645. 'Welcome, Welcome ! ' was first published about sixty 
years ago by Sir Egerton Brydges, who had obtained the verses from a 
manuscript copy in the Lansdowne Collection. ' The Syren's Song' 
forms the opening of a masque presented in 1614. 



The Syren's Song 

Steer, hither steer your winged pines. 

All beaten Mariners ! 
Here lie Love's undiscover'd mines 

A prey to passengers ; 
Perfumes far sweeter than the best 
Which make the Phoenix' urn and nest : 

Fear not your ships, 
Nor any to oppose you save our lips ; 

But come on shore, 
Where no joy dies till love hath gotten more ! 
127 



%ove Songs 

For swelling waves our panting breasts, 

Where never storms arise, 
Exchange, and be awhile our guests ! 

For stars gaze on our eyes ! 
The compass Love shall hourly sing ; 
And as he goes about the ring 

We will not miss 
To tell each point he nameth, with a kiss. 

Then come on shore, 
Where no joy dies till love hath gotten more ! 



Welcome, Welcome ! 

Welcome, welcome, do I sing. 

Far more welcome than the spring ; 

He that parteth from you never, 
Shall enjoy a spring for ever. 

Love that to the voice is near, 
Breaking from your ivory pale. 

Need not walk abroad to hear 
The delightful nightingale. 

Welcome, welcome, then I sing, 
Far more welcome than the spring ; 

He that parteth from you never. 
Shall enjoy a spring for ever. 
128 



TKHUlfani :«3rowne 

Love, that looks still on your eyes, 
Though the winter have begun 

To benumb our arteries, 

Shall not want the summer's sun. 
Welcome, welcome, then I sing. 

Love, that still may see your cheeks. 
Where all rareness still reposes, 

Is a fool, if e'er he seeks 
Other lilies, other roses. 

Welcome, welcome, then I sing. 

Love, to whom your soft lip yields, 
And perceives your breath in kissing, 

All the odours of the fields 
Never, never, shall be missing. 
Welcome, welcome, then I sing. 

Love that question would anew 

What fair Eden was of old, 
Let him rightly study you. 
And a brief of that behold. 

Welcome, welcome, then I sing, 
Far more welcome than the spring, 
He that parteth from you never, 
Shall enjoy a spring for ever. 



129 



1benr^ Iking 

Chaplain to James i., and Bishop of Chichester, was remembered 

chiefly as a religious poet, though his lighter verse has distinct 

qualities. He was bom in 1591, and died in 1669. 



Dry those Fair Eyes 

Dry those fair, those crystal eyes, 

Which, like growing fountains, rise, 

To drown their banks ; griefs sullen brooks 

Would better flow in furrow'd looks ; 

Thy lovely face was never meant 

To be the shore of discontent. 

Then clear those waterish stars again, 
Which else portend a lasting rain ; 
Lest the clouds which settle there 
Prolong my winter all the year. 
And thy example others make 
In love with sorrow for thy sake. 
130 



Ibenrg Iking 



Tell me no more 

Tell me no more how fair she is, 

I have no mind to hear 
The story of that distant bliss 

I never shall come near : 
By sad experience I have found 
That her perfection is my wound. 

And tell me not how fond I am 

To tempt my daring fate, 
From whence no triumph ever came, 

But to repent too late : 
There is some hope ere long I may 
In silence doat myself away. 

I ask no pity, Love, from thee. 

Nor will thy justice blame, 
So that thou wilt not envy me 

The glory of my flame ; 
Which crowns my heart whene'er it dies, 
In that it falls her sacrifice. 



131 



IRobett Ibetrtcft 

who takes rank among the first of English song-writers, was the son of 
a London goldsmith. He was born in 1591, and in 1607 (his father 
having died in 1592) he was apprenticed to his uncle, Sir William 
Herrick, just knighted in recognition of his services as goldsmith, 
jeweller, and money-lender to James i. He went to Cambridge about 
1614, and studied law. He took his degree as bachelor in 1617, and 
that of master three years later. Returning to London, he became 
something of a general favourite, and as a promising young poet was 
numbered among Ben Jonson's ' sons.' Then he took holy orders, and 
in 1629 obtained from the King the Vicarage of Dean Prior, worth 
;{^5o, a sum which must be multiplied by five to give corresponding 
value in our day. Though he seems sometimes to have had his doubts 
of kingly wisdom, Herrick was attached to the Royal cause. As a 
consequence he was ejected from his living at the advent of the 
Commonwealth, but was reinstated at the Restoration. Herrick re- 
mained a bachelor, but his life in Devonshire was not without interest, 
as may be judged from this extract from Mr. Alfred Pollard's beautiful 
edition of the poet recently issued : ' His conception of religion was 
mediaeval in its sensuousness, and he probably repeated the stages of 
sin, repentance, and renewed assurance with some facility. He lived 
with an old servant. Prudence Baldwin, the "Prew" of many of his 
poems ; kept a spaniel named Tracy, and, so says tradition, a tame 
pig. When his parishioners annoyed him he seems to have com- 
forted himself with epigrams on them ; when they slumbered during 
one of his sermons the manuscript was suddenly hurled at them 
with a curse for their inattention.' Herrick died in 1674. Hesperides 
(West of England fruits), or the Works both Humane and Divine 
of Robert Herrick, Esq., appeared in 1648. An inquiry into Herrick's 
indebtedness to classical sources may be Interesting, but it is rather 
valueless. There is the instance of the song ' To the Maidens to 
make much of Time.' It is regarded as probable that Herrick obtained 
the Idea from Spenser : — 

' Gather therefore the rose whilst yet is prime ; 
For soon comes age that will her pride deflower ; 
Gather the rose of love while yet is time, 
Whilst loving, thou may'st loved be with equal crime.' 

Faerie Queene, Book ii. Canto 12, verse 75. 

132 



IRobert Iberriclft 

In Tasso's Jerusalem (transl. by Fairfax, and published afew years prior 
to the Faerie Queene) is the following passage (Book xvi. verse 15) : — 
'Oh, gather then the rose, while time thou hast; 
Short is the day, done when it scant began ; 

Gather the rose of love, while yet thou may'st 
Loving be lov'd, embracing be embrac'd.' 

Spenser is known to have been acquainted with the work of most of the 
Italian poets. Herrick was the author of the following popular poem : — 

Cherrie-Ripe 

Cherrie-Ripe, Ripe, Ripe, I cry. 
Full and fair ones ; come and buy 
If so be, you ask me where 
They doe grow? I answer, There, 
Where my Julia's lips doe smile ; 
There 's the Land, of Cherry-Ile : 
Whose plantations fully show 
All the year, where Cherries grow. 

In the opinion of Charles Mackay {One Thousand and One Gems of 
Song), Herrick probably obtained the idea from the following song, in- 
cluded m An Houre's Recreation ?'«iI/2«zV:/t(? (Richard Allison, 1606): — 

' There is a garden in her face. 

Where roses and white lilies blow ; 
A heavenly paradise is that place. 

Wherein all pleasant fruits do grow; 
There cherries grow that none may buy 
Till cherry ripe themselves do cry. 

Those cherries fairly do enclose 

Of orient pearl a double row. 
Which, when her lovely laughter shows, 

They look like rosebuds filled with snow ; 
Yet them no peer nor prince may buy 
Till cherry ripe themselves do cry. 

Her eyes, like angels, watch them still. 

Her brows like bended bows do stand, 
Threatening with piercing frowns to kill 

All that approach with eye or hand 
These sacred cherries to come nigh. 
Till cherry ripe themselves do cry. 

Charles Home altered Herrick's lines to some extent, and wedding his 

version to a very pleasing melody, the song attained a popularity 

which more than half a century has done little to diminish. 



Xove Songs 

Delight in Disorder 

A SWEET disorder in the dress 

Kindles in clothes a wantonness : 

A lawn about the shoulders thrown 

Into a fine distraction : 

An erring lace which here and there 

Enthrals the crimson stomacher : 

A cuff neglectful, and thereby 

Ribbons to flow confusedly : 

A winning wave, deserving note, 

In the tempestuous petticoat : 

A careless shoe-string, in whose tie 

I see a wild civility : 

Do more bewitch me than when art 

Is too precise in every part. 

The Mad Maid's Song 

Good-morrow to the day so fair, 

Good-morning, sir, to you ; 
Good-morrow to mine own torn hair, 

Bedabbled with the dew. 

Good-morning to this primrose too, 

Good-morrow to each maid 
That will with flowers the tomb bestrew 

Wherein my love is laid. 
134 



IRobert IberrlcR 

Ah ! woe is me, woe, woe is me, 

Alack and well-a-day ! 
For pity, sir, find out that bee 

Which bore my love away. 

I '11 seek him in your bonnet brave, 

I '11 seek him in your eyes ; 
Nay, now I think, they've made his grave 

I' th' bed of strawberries. 

I '11 seek him there ; I know ere this 
The cold, cold earth doth shelter him ; 

But I will go or send a kiss 
By you, sir, to awake him. 

Pray, hurt him not though he be dead. 
He knows well who do love him, 

And who with green turfs rear his head. 
And who do rudely move him. 

He 's soft and tender (pray take heed) ; 

With bands of cowslips bind him, 
And bring him home ; but 'tis decreed 

That I shall never find him 



135 



%ove Songs 

The Primrose 

Ask me why I send you here 
This sweet Infanta of the year ? 

Ask me why I send to you 
This primrose, thus bepearl'd with dew? 

I will whisper to your ears : 
The sweets of love are mix'd with tears. 

Ask me why this flower does show 
So yellow-green, and sickly too ? 

Ask me why the stalk is weak 
And bending (yet it doth not break) ? 

I will answer : These discover 
What fainting hopes are in a lover. 



The Maiden-Blush 

So look the mornings when the sun 
Paints them with fresh vermilion : 
So cherries blush, and Kathern pears, 
And apricots in youthful years : 
So corals look more lovely red, 
And rubies lately polished : 

So purest diaper doth shine, 
Stain'd by the beams of claret wine : 
As Julia looks when she doth dress 
Her either cheek with bashfulness. 
136 



IRobert Iberrfcft 
The Headache 

My head doth ache, 
O Sappho ! take 

Thy fillet, 
And bind the pain, 
Or bring some bane 

To kill it. 

But less that part 
Than my poor heart 

Now is sick ; 
One kiss from thee 
Will counsel be 

And physic. 



A Ring presented to Julia 

Julia, I bring 

To thee this ring, 
Made for thy finger fit ; 

To show by this 

That our love is 
(Or should be) like to it. 

Close though it be 

The joint is free ; 

137 



%ove Songs 

So, when love's yoke is on, 

It must not gall. 

Or fret at all 
With hard oppression. 

But it must play 

Still either way, 
And be, too, such a yoke 

As not too wide 

To overslide, 
Or be so straight to choke. 

So we who bear 

This beam must rear 
Ourselves to such a height 

As that the stay 

Of either may 
Create the burden light. 

And as this round 
Is no where found 
To flaw, or else to sever : 
So let our love 
As endless prove, 
And pure as gold for ever. 

A Kiss 

What is a kiss ? Why this, as some approve : 

The sure, sweet cement, glue, and lime of love. 

138 



IRobert Iberricft 



The Bracelet 

"When I tie about thy wrist, 
Julia, this my silken twist, 
For what other reason is 't 

But to show thee how, in part, 

Thou my pretty captive art ? 

— But thy bond-slave is my heart. 

'Tis but silk that bindeth thee, 
Snap the thread, and thou art free 
But 'tis otherwise with me : 

I am bound, and fast bound, so 
That from thee I cannot go : 
If I could I would not so ! 



Love me little, love me long 

You say, to me-wards your affection 's strong ; 
Pray love me little, so you love me long. 
Slowly goes far : the mean is best : desire, 
Grown violent, does either die or lire. 
139 



Xove Songs 



The Night Piece, to Julia 

Her eyes the glow-worm lend thee, 
The shooting stars attend thee ; 

And the elves also, 

Whose little eyes glow 
Like the sparks of fire, befriend thee. 

No \Vill-o'-th'-Wisp mislight thee, 
Nor snake nor slow-worm bite thee ; 

But on, on thy way, 

Not making a stay, 
Since ghost there 's none to affright thee. 

Let not the dark thee cumber : 
What though the moon does slumber ? 

The stars of the night 

Will lend thee their light 
Like tapers clear without number. 

Then, Julia, let me woo thee, 
Thus, thus to come unto me j 

And when I shall meet 

Thy silv'ry feet 
My soul I '11 pour into thee. 
140 



IRobert fbcxvick 



To the Virgins, 
to make much of Time 

Gather ye rosebuds while ye may, 

Old time is still a-flying ; 
And this same flower that smiles to-day 

To-morrow will be dying. 

The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun, 

The higher he 's a-getting 
The sooner will his race be run, 

And nearer he 's to setting. 

That age is best, which is the first, 
When youth and blood are warmer ; 

But being spent, the worse, and worst 
Times still succeed the former. 

Then be not coy, but use your time. 
And while ye may, go marry : 

For having lost but once your prime, 
You may for ever tarry. 



Love palpable 

I press'd my Julia's lips, and in the kiss 

Her soul and love were palpable in this. 

141 



%ox>e Songs 



To Electra 

LOVE LOOKS FOR LOVE 

Love love begets, then never be 
Unsoft to him who 's smooth to thee. 
Tigers and bears, I 've heard some say, 
For proffer'd love will love repay : 
None are so harsh, but if they find 
Softness in others, will be kind ; 
Affection will affection move, 
Then you must like because I love. 



To Dianeme 

Give me one kiss 

And no more : 
If, so be, this 

Makes you poor, 
To enrich you, 

I '11 restore 
For that one two 

Thousand score. 



142 



TRobert Ibcrrlch 

To Anthea, who may command 
him anything 

Bid me to live, and I will live 

Thy Protestant to be, 
Or bid me love, and I will give 

A loving heart to thee. 

A heart as soft, a heart as kind, 

A heart as sound and free 
As in the whole world thou canst find, 

That heart I '11 give to thee. 

Bid that heart stay, and it will stay 

To honour thy decree : 
Or bid it languish quite away, 

And 't shall do so for thee. 

Bid me to weep, and I will weep 

While I have eyes to see : 
And, having none, yet I will keep 

A heart to weep for thee. 

Bid me despair, and I '11 despair 

Under that cypress-tree : 
Or bid me die, and I will dare 

E'en death to die for thee. 
143 



%ovc Songs 

Thou art my life, my love, my heart. 

The very eyes of me : 
And hast command of every part 

To live and die for thee. 



To his Mistress 

Choose me your Valentine, 

Next let us marry — 
Love to the death will pine 

If we long tarry. 

Promise, and keep your vows, 

Or vow ye never — 
Love's doctrine disallows 

Troth-breakers ever. 

You have broke promise twice. 

Dear, to undo me. 
If you prove faithless thrice, 

None then will woo ye. 



To Electra 

I DARE not ask a kiss, 
I dare not beg a smile ; 

Lest having that, or this, 
I might grow proud the while. 
144 



IRobert Iberricft 

No, no, the utmost share 
Of my desire shall be 

Only to kiss that air 
That late kissed thee. 



His Covenant; or Protestation to Julia 

Why dost thou wound and break my heart, 

As if we should for ever part ? 

Hast thou not heard an oath from me, 

After a day, or two, or three, 

I would come back and live with thee ? 

Take, if thou dost distrust that vow, 

This second protestation now. 

Upon thy cheek that spangled tear, 

Which sits as dew of roses there, 

That tear shall scarce be dried before 

I '11 kiss the threshold of thy door. 

Then weep not, Sweet ; but this much know, 

I 'm half return 'd before I go. 



To Julia 

Julia, when thy Herrick dies, 
Close thou up thy poet's eyes : 
And his last breath, let it be 
Taken in by none but thee. 
145 



milliam Strobe 



was born in Devonshire in 1600. He was educated at Westminster 

and Oxford, and in 1638 he became Canon of Christ Church. 

He was an eloquent preacher, and a poet of some 

eminence. He died in 1644. 



Kisses 

My love and I for kisses play'd ; 

She would keep stakes, I was content ; 
But when I won she would be paid, 

This made me ask her what she meant ; 
Nay, since I see (quoth she) you wrangle in vain, 
Take your own kisses, give me mine again. 



146 



Bbmun^ Mallet 

was born at Coleshill in Warwickshire in 1605, and, whilst still a youth, 
inherited a large fortune. He was educated at Eton and Cambridge, 
and was but a youth of seventeen when elected to represent Agmon- 
desham in ParHament. At the age of twenty- three he married a rich 
heiress, who died a year or so afterwards. At twenty-five he was 
singing the praises of Lady Dorothy Sydney, who, though appreciating 
the verses addressed to her as Sacharissa, neglected the poet, and 
married the Earl of Sunderland. After this, Waller married a lady 
named Bresse, and was blessed with a family of thirteen children. 
Differences arising between the Parliament and the King, Waller was 
one of the commissioners appointed to treat with his Majesty. Later, 
Waller was arrested for treason, and made a speech in the House of 
Commons which is said to have saved his life, but he is also recorded 
to have spent ;i3o,ooo in bribes. He suffered a year's imprisonment, 
and had to pay a fine of ;{^io,ooo. Obtaining his liberty, he removed 
to France, but, a poor man now, funds failed him. He obtained leave 
from Cromwell to return, and it would seem that the Protector took 
pleasure in his company, but had no reliance in hini as a partisan. 
Waller recognised the generosity extended him in suitable verse, but 
the poet's praises were none the less lavishly bestowed upon Charles II., 
when the Restoration was accomplished. He died in 1687. In 
his later years he wrote certain Dhiine Poems, but his fame 
rests upon his lighter verse. His amorous poems, usually 
produced with great labour, are the most esteemed. 



Lines to a Girdle 

That which her slender waist confined, 
Shall now my joyful temples bind ; 
No monarch but would give his crown 
His arms might do what this has done. 
147 



%ove Songs 

It was my heaven's extremest sphere, 
The pale which held that lovely deer ; 
My joy, my grief, my hope, my love 
Did all within this circle move. 

A narrow compass ! and yet there 
Dwelt all that 's good, and all that 's fair ; 
Give me but what this riband bound. 
Take all the rest the sun goes round. 



Lines to a Rose 

Go, lovely rose ! 

Tell her that wastes her time and me, 

That now she knows, 

When I resemble her to thee, 
How sweet and fair she seems to be. 

Tell her, that 's young. 

And shuns to have her graces spied, 

That, had'st thou sprung 

In deserts, where no men abide. 
Thou must have uncommended died. 

Small is the worth 
Of beauty from the light retired : 

Bid her come forth. 

Suffer herself to be desired. 
And not blush so to be admired. 
148 



B&munJ> mailer 

Then die ! that she 
The common fate of all things rare 

May read in thee, 

How small a part of time they share 
That are so wondrous sweet and fair. 

[Kirke White added this verse.] 

Yet, though thou fade, 

From thy dead leaves let fragrance rise ; 

And teach the maid 

That goodness Time's rude hand defies,— 
That virtue lives when beauty dies. 



149 



Sir miUiam B'Hvenant 

the son of a vintner, was born in Oxford in 1605. He was first a 

page in the service of the first Duchess of Richmond, and afterwards 

was employed by Fulke Greville, Lord Brooke. After his master's 

murder he wrote for the stage, and produced in 1629 his first dramatic 

piece. Coming under the suspicion of the Parliament, he made off, but 

later seems to have acted in the field with courage. For this service he 

was knighted. He was leaving France with the intention of proceed ing 

to Virginia, when captured and brought back to London. The 

influence of Milton with the Protector served him in good 

stead in the moment of danger. He died 1668. 



Who look for Day before his 
Mistress wakes 

The lark now leaves his wat'ry nest 
And, climbing, shakes his dewy wings ; 

He takes this window for the east, 
And to implore your light he sings : 

Awake, awake ! the morn will never rise 

Till she can dress her beauty at your eyes. 

The merchant bows unto the seaman's star. 
The ploughman from the sun his season takes ; 

But still the lover wonders what they are 
Who look for day before his mistress wakes. 

Awake, awake ! break through your veils of lawn, 

Then draw your curtains and begin the dawn. 
150 



5obn /llMlton 



was born In London in 1608, and was educated at Cambridge. Upon 
his return from Continental travel he took up the Parliamentary cause, 
and later was appointed Latin Secretary to the Council of State and the 
Protector. At the Restoration, Sir Wm. D'Avenant befriended him, 
and his pardon was obtained. When the plague broke out he removed 
into Buckinghamshire, and completed his Paradise Lost (1667), for 
which he received £\$ by instalments. It is said he was indebted for 
the idea of Paradise Regained to his amanuensis. He was blind 
during his later years, due to a natural weakness of the eyes and ex- 
cessive application. He was thrice married. He died in 1674. The 
poem quoted is a translation by Langhorn from the Italian, 
a language in which Milton acquired great fluency. 



Charles, must I say 

Charles, must I say, what strange it seems to say. 

This rebel heart that love hath held as naught, 

Or, haply, in his cunning mazes caught. 
Would laugh, and let his captive steal away ; 

This simple heart hath now become his prey. 

Yet hath no golden tress this lesson taught, 
Nor vermeil cheek that shames the rising day : 

O no ! — 'twas beauty's most celestial ray. 
With charms divine of sovereign sweetness fraught ! 

The noble voice, the soul-dissolving air, 
The bright arch bending o'er the lucid eye, 

The voice that, breathing melody so rare. 
Might lead the toil'd moon from the middle sky ! 

Charles, when such mischief armed this foreign fair. 
Small chance had I to hope this simple heart should fly. 

12 151 



Sit 3obn Sucftlinc 

was the son of a Secretary of State and Comptroller of the Royal House- 
hold, and was born at Whitton in Middlesex about i6og. At his father's 
death in 1627 he inherited considerable wealth, and leaving Trinity 
College, Cambridge, served a campaign in the army of Gustavus 
Adolphus. Upon his return he acquired, at the Court of Charles i., a 
reputation as a wit. With an attempt which was made to effect the 
escape of the Earl of Strafford, who was lying in the Tower, under 
articles of impeachment from the House of Commons, he was so seriously 
implicated as to render it advisable for him to quit the country. His 
death occurred in 1641. He was the author of several plays, 
and the well-known song, ' Why so pale and wan, fond lover ? ' 
occurs in a piece entitled Aglanra, His fame rests upon 
his light and short productions, where grace an 
elegance are everywhere apparent. 



A Toast 

She 's pretty to walk with : 

And witty to talk with : 
And pleasant too to think on. 

But the best use of all 

Is, her health is a stale, 
And helps us to make us drink on. 



152 



Sfr jobn Sucftllng 



Why so pale, fond Lover 

Why so pale and wan, fond lover ? 

Prithee, why so pale ? 
Will, when looking well can't move her, 

Looking ill prevail ? 

Prithee why so pale ? 

Why so dull and mute, young sinner, 

Prithee why so mute ? 
Will, when speaking well can't win her. 

Saying nothing do 't ? 

Prithee why so mute ? 

Quit, quit, for shame ; this will not move, 

This cannot take her ; 
If of herself she will not love. 

Nothing can make her — 

The devil take her. 



153 



Samuel iButler 

the author of Hudibras, was born in 1612, and died in 1680. Tlie 

short pieces here given deserve quotation, mainly, if not entirely, 

from the interest attaching to the great writer. Among his 

' miscellaneous thoughts are these : — 



All Love, at first, like generous wine, 
Ferments and frets until 'tis fine ; 
But when 'tis settled on the lee, 
And from the impurer matter free, 
Becomes the richer still the older, 
And proves the pleasanter the colder. 



Love is too great a happiness 
For wretched mortals to possess ; 
For, could it hold inviolate 
Against those cruelties of Fate 
Which all felicities below 
By rigid laws are subject to, 
It would become a bliss too high 
For perishing mortality, 
Translate to earth the joys above — 
For nothing goes to heaven but Love. 
154 



Samuel :JSutler 



To his Mistress 

Do not unjustly blame 

My guiltless breast. 
For venturing to disclose a flame 

It had so long supprest. 

In its own ashes it designed 

For ever to have lain ; 
But that my sighs, like blasts of wind. 

Made it break out again. 



To the Same 

Do not mine affection slight, 

'Cause my locks with age are white ; 

Your breasts have snow without, and snow within. 

Whilst flames of fire in your bright eyes are seen. 



155 



IRicbart) %ovclncc 

the eldest son of Sir William Lovelace, of Woolwich, was born in 1618, 
and was educated at Charterhouse School and Gloucester Hall, Oxford. 
It is related that Lovelace, when only eighteen years of age, was made 
M.A. by Charles I., at the request of a great lady, who was much 
charmed with the beauty of the youth. Lovelace went to Court, and 
entering the King's army attained the rank of Colonel. In April 1642 
he was committed to the Gate House, at Westminster, for presenting 
a petition ' from the whole of the County of Kent to the House of 
Commons, for restoring the King to his rights.' In prison he wrote the 
song ' To Althea, ' which, in the opinion of Southey, ' will live as long 
as the English language.' Released on heavy bail, Lovelace spent his 
fortune in the Royal cause, and in aiding poorer friends. In 1648 he 
was again in prison. Then he prepared for the press, Litcasia: 
Epodes^ Odes, Sonnets, Songs, etc. (1649). Lovelace made his amours 
to a gentlewoman of great beauty and fortune, named Lucy Sacheverel, 
whom he usually addressed as Lucasta {lux casta, pure light), but 
' she, upon a strong report that he was dead, of his wound received at 
Dunkirk (where he had brought a regiment for the service of the French 
king), soon after married.' Under Cromwell, Lovelace was released 
from prison, but, fortune and friends deserting him, he died in acute 
poverty, in a mean lodging in Gunpowder Alley, near 
Shoe Lane, in 1658. 



To Althea, from Prison 

When Love with unconfined wings 

Hovers within my gates, 
And my divine Althea brings 

To whisper at my grates ; 
"When I lie tangled in her hair 

And fetter'd to her eye, 
156 



IRlcbarD Xovelace 

The birds that wanton in the air 
Know no such liberty. 

When flowing cups run swiftly round 

With no allaying Thames, 
Our careless heads with roses bound, 

Our hearts with loyal flames ; 
When thirsty grief in wine we steep, 

When healths and draughts go free- 
Fishes that tipple in the deep 

Know no such liberty. 

When, like committed linnets, I 

With shriller throat shall sing 
The sweetness, mercy, majesty 

And glories of my King ; 
When I shall voice aloud how good 

He is, how great should be. 
Enlarged winds, that curl the flood. 

Know no such liberty. 

Stone walls do not a prison make, 

Nor iron bars a cage ; 
Minds, innocent and quiet, take 

That for an hermitage ; 
If I have freedom in my love 

And in my soul am free, 
Angels alone that soar above 

Enjoy such liberty. 

157 



Hbrabam Cowlep 

was the posthumous son of a London grocer. He was born in 1618, and 

at the age of thirteen published his Poetical Blossoms. In 1647 a 

collection of his love-verses was published under the title of The 

Mistress. The love was purely imaginary. He never married, and, 

worse still, it is said that he only once fell in love, and that then 

he was too shy to declare his passion. Neglected by royalty after 

the Restoration, he retired into the country, and 

died at Chertsey in 1667. 



Love 

Love in her sunny eyes does basking play ; 

Love walks the pleasant mazes of her hair ; 
Love does on both her lips for ever stray, 

And sows and reaps a thousand kisses there ; 
In all her outward parts Love 's always seen ; 

But oh ! he never went within. 



158 



Hlejan&er JSrome 

a lawyer, whose lively Royalist rhymes were in great request, was 
born in 1620 and died in i656. 



Why I love her 

'Tis not her birth, her friends, nor yet her treasure, 

Nor do I covet her for sensual pleasure, 

Nor for that old morality 

Do I love her, 'cause she loves me. 

Sure he that loves his lady 'cause she 's fair. 

Delights his eye, so loves himself, not her. 

Something there is moves me to love, and I 

Do know I love, but know not how, nor why. 



159 



XTbomas H)"Clrte^ 

or Tom D'Urfey, as he was more generally known, was descended 
from a family of French Huguenot refugees, and born at Exeter. The 
date is variously given as 1628, 1630, 1649, 1650, and 1653. The pro- 
babilities are in favour of the last date being the correct one. He was 
the author of many comedies and a large body of songs and party 
lyrics. He was a large contributor to the miscellany called 
Laugh and be Fat, or Pills to Purge Melancholy, 
He died in 1723. 



Still Water 

Damon, let a friend advise ye, 
Follow Clores though she flies ye, 
Though her tongue your suit is slighting, 
Her kind eyes you '11 find inviting : 
Woman's rage, like shallow water. 
Does but show their hurtless nature ; 
When the stream seems rough and frowning, 
There is still least fear of drowning. 

Let me tell the adventurous stranger, 
In our calmness lies our danger ; 
Like a river's silent running, 
Stillness shows our depth and cunning : 
She that rails ye into trembling 
Only shows her fine dissembling ; 
But the fawner, to abuse ye. 
Thinks ye fools, and so will use ye. 
160 



Cbarles Cotton 



was the author of a supplement to Walton's Complete Angler^ and by 

this work his name has almost certainly achieved immortality. He was 

the author of a volume of poems, and translated the Horace of 

Corneille, and the Essays of Montaigne. He was born in 1630 and 

died in 16S7. The rondeau appended is not the usual passionless vein 

of Charles Cotton. His second wife was Mary, Countess Dowager 

of Ardglass, the widow of Lord Cornwall. She had a 

jointure of £,\yx> a year, made secure upon her 

from the poet's financial imprudence. 



Thou Fool 

Thou fool ! if madness be so rife 
That, spite of wit, thou'lt have a wife, 
I '11 tell thee what thou must expect, — 
After the honey-moon, neglect, 
All the sad days of thy whole life ! 

To that a world of woe and strife. 
Which is of marriage the effect ; 
And thou thy own woe's architect, 

Thou fool ! 

Thou'lt nothing find but disrespect, 
111 words i' th' scolding dialect. 
For she '11 all tabor be or fife. 
Then prithee go and whet thy knife. 
And from this fate thyself protect. 

Thou fool ! 
161 



5obn Dr^ben 

was born in Northamptonshire in 1631, and was educated at West- 
minster and Cambridge. He settled in London in 1657, and acted for a 
while as secretary to a relation who was a member of Cromwell's 
Council. He mourned the death of the Protector, and greeted the 
accession of Charles 11. He was the author of many plays, written at the 
suggestion of the King, but some of his best work was produced in a suc- 
ceeding reign, when he was no longer the recipient of royal bounty. To 
his later years belong his translation of Virgil and his Fables. The com- 
manding genius of Dryden does not come out fully in his songs, and it 
seems that whilst entertaining the poorest opinion of his audience 
he yet wrote for their pleasure. He died in 1700. 



Concealed Love 

I FEED a flame within, which so torments me, 
That it both pains my heart and yet contents me ; 
'Tis such a pleasing smart, and I so love it. 
That I had rather die, than once remove it. 

Yet he, for whom I grieve, shall never know it ; 
My tongue does not betray, nor my eyes show it. 
Not a sigh, nor a tear, my pain discloses, 
But they fall silently, like dew on roses. 

Thus, to prevent my love from being cruel. 
My heart 's the sacrifice, as 'tis the fuel : 
162 



5obn ®cfi^en 

And while I suffer this to give him quiet, 
My faith rewards my love, though he deny it. 

On his eyes will I gaze, and there delight me ; 
While I conceal my love no frown can fright me 
To be more happy, I dare not aspire ; 
Nor can I fall more low, mounting no higher. 



To Matilda on the Anniversary of 
our Marriage 

When first, in all thy youthful charms, 
And dazzling beauty's pride. 

Heightened by infant Love's alarms 
The nuptial knot was tied. 

Which gave thee to my longing arms 
A blooming, blushing bride, — 

Entranced in Hymen's blissful bowers, 

We hail'd each rising sun. 
While wing'd with joys the rosy hours 

In ecstasy flew on ; 
And still we blest the heavenly powers, 

Who join'd our hearts in one. 

Now, as with fairy-footed tread, 
Time steals our years away, 
163 



Xore Songs 

Thy mildly beaming virtues spread 
Soft influence o'er life's way ; 

Insuring to our peaceful shed 
Love's bliss without decay. 



A Pair well matched 

Fair Iris I love, and hourly I die, 
But not for a lip, nor a languishing eye ; 
She 's fickle and false, and there we agree, 
For I am as false and as fickle as she ; 
We neither believe what either can say, 
And neither believing, we neither betray. 

'Tis civil to swear, and to say things of course ; 
We mean not the taking for better or worse : 
When present we love ; and when absent agree 
I think not of Iris, nor Iris of me : 
The legend of Love no couple can find, 
So easy to part, or so equally join'd. 



The Fair Stranger 

Happy and free, securely blest, 
No beauty could disturb my rest ; 
My amorous heart was in despair 
To find a new victorious fair. 
164 



5obn Drg5en 

Till you, descending on our plains, 
With foreign force renew my chains ; 
Where now you reign without control. 
The mighty sovereign of my soul. 

Your smiles have more of conquering charms 
Than all your native country's arms : 
Their troops we can expel with ease, 
Who vanquish only when we please. 

But in your eyes, O! there 's the spell ! 
Who can see them, and not rebel? 
You make us captives by your stay, 
Yet kill us if you go away. 



:65 



Sir George Btberege 

born in 1634, was one of the wits at the Court of Charles II. He was 

the author of various dramatic pieces, including Tlie Coviical Revenge, 

or LoTe in a Tub ; SJie would if She could ; The Man 0/ Mode, or 

Sir Fopling Flutter, comedies by which his name is still remembered. 

Reduced to sad straits by various indiscretions, he sought to marry a 

rich elderly widow, who, it is said, made the honour of knighthood for 

her spouse a condition of her acceptance. The honour was obtained 

from James 11., by whom Etherege was appointed envoy 

to Ratisbon, where, from some uncertain cause, 

he is said to have died, 1683. 



Beauty no Armour against Love 

Ladies, though to your conquering eyes 
Love owes his chiefest victories, 
And borrows those bright arms from you 
With which he does the world subdue, 
Yet you yourselves are not above 
The empire nor the griefs of love. 

Then wrack not lovers with disdain, 
Lest love on you revenge their pain ; 
You are not free because y 're fair ; 
The boy did not his mother spare. 

Beauty 's but an offensive dart ; 

It is no armour for the heart. 
166 



Cbarles SacPjvflle 

Earl of Dorset, was born in 1637, and at the Restoration became one 

of the first favourites of the King. In 1665, Lord Buckhurst, as he was 

then known, was engaged in the Dutch war, and on the eve of the 

great battle of June 3 he is said to have written the celebrated song, 

'To all you Ladies now at Land' with equal tranquillity of mind and 

promptitude of wit. But Johnson adds to this narrative, 'Seldom any 

splendid story is wholly true. I have heard from the late Earl of 

Orrery, who was likely to have good hereditary intelligence, that 

Lord Buckhurst had been a week employed upon it, and only 

retouched or finished it on the memorable 

evening.' He died in 1706. 

Song 

WRITTEN AT SEA IN THE FIRST DUTCH WAR, 1665, 
THE NIGHT BEFORE AN ENGAGEMENT 

To all you ladies now at land, 

We men at sea indite ; 
But first would have ye understand 

How hard it is to write : 
The Muses now and Neptune, too, 
We must implore to write to you. 

For tho' the Muses should prove kind, 

And fill our empty brain, 
Yet, if rough Neptune call the wind 

To rouse the azure main, 
Our paper, pen, and ink, and we 
Roll up and down our ships at sea. 
13 167 



%0K>c Songs 

Then, if we write not by each post, 

Think not we are unkind. 
Nor yet conclude our ships are lost 

By Dutchmen or by wind : 
Our tears we '11 send a speedier way. 
The tide shall bring them twice a day. 



The King, with wonder and surprise, 
Will swear the seas grow bold, 

Because the tides will higher rise. 
Than e'er they used of old : 

But let him know it is our tears 

Bring floods of grief to Whitehall stairs. 



Should foggy Opdam chance to know 

Our sad and dismal story, 
The Dutch would scorn so weak a foe, 

And say they 've gained no glory ; 
For what resistance can they find 
From men who 've left their hearts behind ? 



Let wind and weather do its worst, 

Be you to us but kind ; 
Let Dutchmen vapour, Spaniards curse, 

No sorrow we shall find : 
'Tis then no matter how things go. 
Or who 's our friend, or who 's our foe. 
1 68 



Cbarles SacftvUle 

To pass our tedious hours away, 
We throw a merry main, 

Or else at serious ombre play ; 
But why should we in vain 

Each other's ruin thus pursue ? 

We were undone when we left you. 



But now our fears tempestuous grow 

And cast our hopes away, 
Whilst you, regardless of our woe, 

Sit careless at a play ; 
Perhaps permit some happier man 
To kiss your hand, or flirt your fan. 

When any mournful tune you hear, 

That dies in every note, 
As if it sighed with each man's care 

For being so remote ; 
Think then how often love we 've made 
To you, when all those tunes were played. 



In justice you cannot refuse 

To think of our distress. 
When we for hopes of honour lose 

Our certain happiness ; 
All those designs are but to prove 
Ourselves more worthy of your love. 
169 



Xove Songs 

And now we 've told you all our loves, 
And likewise all our fears, 

In hopes this declaration moves 
Some pity for our tears ; 

Let 's hear of no inconstancy. 

We have too much of that at sea. 



170 



Sit Cbarles SeMe^ 

was one of the best writers of light verse in the reign of Charles ii., at 

whose Court he was a great wit. His daughter was held in high 

favour by James li. , and Sedley was sorely displeased. He used his 

influence against James in promoting the Revolution, and willingly 

explained his reason : — ' From principles of gratitude, for, since his 

Majesty has made my daughter a Countess, it is fit I should 

do all I can to make his daughter a Queen.' Sedley 

was born in 1639, and died in 1701. 



We'll all the World excel 

Phillis, let 's shun the common fate, 
And let our love ne'er turn to hate ; 
I '11 dote no longer than I can, 
Without being called a faithless man. 
When we begin to want discourse, 
And kindness seems to taste of force, 
As freely as we met we '11 part, 
Each one possessed of their own heart. 
Thus, whilst rash fools themselves undo, 
We '11 game and give off savers too ; 
So equally the match we '11 make 
Both shall be glad to draw the stake. 
A smile of thine shall make my bliss, 
I will enjoy thee in a kiss : 
If from this height our kindness fall. 
We '11 bravely scorn to love at all : 
171 



Xove Songs 

If thy affection first decay, 
I will the blame on Nature lay. 
Alas, what cordial can remove 
The hasty fate of dying Love ? 
Thus we will all the world excel 
In loving and in parting well. 



Phillis is my only Joy 

Phillis is my only joy. 

Faithless as the winds or seas ; 
Sometimes coming, sometimes coy. 
Yet she never fails to please : 
If with a frown 
I am cast down, 
Phillis smiling, 
And beguiling. 
Makes me happier than before. 

Tho', alas ! too late I find 

Nothing can her fancy fix. 
Yet the moment she is kind 
I forgive her all her tricks : 
Which tho' I see, 
I can't get free : 
She deceiving, 
I believing : 
What need lovers wish for more ? 
172 



5obn Milmot 



Lord Wllmot, afterwards the Earl of Rochester, was born at Ditchley 

'in Oxfordshire in 1647. His very companionable qualities made him 

a favourite with the King. He set about a short life and a merry one. 

By the time he had attained his thirtieth year he had exhausted the 

fund of life. About this time he came under the influence of Dr. 

Burnet, who afterwards wrote, Some Passages of the Life and Death 

of John, Earl of Rochester. A lingering illness terminated in his 

death in i68o. He was a man of considerable attainments, and wrote 

a poem. Upon Nothing, revealing, strangely enough, his highest genius 

upon this threadbare subject. His songs, in the opinion 

of Johnson, are smooth and easy, but have 

little nature and little sentiment. 



My Dear Mistress 

My dear mistress has a heart 

Soft as those kind looks she gave me, 
When, with love's resistless art, 

And her eyes, she did enslave me : 
But her constancy 's so weak, 

She 's so wild and apt to wander, 
That my jealous heart would break 

Should we live one day asunder. 

Melting joys about her move, 

Killing pleasures, wounding blisses ; 
173 



%ove Sonfls 

She can dress her eyes in love, 

And her lips can warm with kisses. 

Angels listen when she speaks ; 

She 's my delight, all mankind's wonder, 

But my jealous heart would break, 
Should we live one day asunder. 



Love and Life 

All my past life is mine no more, 

The flying hours are gone : 
Like transitory dreams given o'er, 
Whose images are kept in store 
By memory alone. 

The time that is to come is not ; 

How can it then be mine ? 
The present moment 's all my lot ; 
And that, as fast as it is got, 

Phillis, is only thine. 

Then talk not of inconstancy, 
False hearts, and broken vows ; 

If I, by miracle, can be 

This life-long minute true to thee, 
'Tis all that heaven allows. 



174 



5obn SbettielD 



Duke of Buckinghamshire, son of the Earl of Mulgrave, was born in 

1649 s"d died in 1720. Buckingham House, in St. James's Park, since 

converted into a royal palace, was originally erected for him. 

The poem quoted is sometimes found attributed to George 

Villiers, Duke of Buckingham (1627-1688), a man 

of a sadly diflferent type. 



Come, Celia, let's agree at last 

Come, Celia, let 's agree at last 

To love and live in quiet ; 
Let 's tie the knot so very fast 

That time shall ne'er untie it. 
Love's dearest joys they never prove, 

Who free from quarrels live ; 
'Tis sure a godlike part of love 

Each other to forgive. 

When least I seemed concerned I took 

No pleasure, nor had rest ; 
And when I feigned an angry look, 

Alas ! I loved you best. 
Say but the same to me, you '11 find 

How blest will be our fate ; 
Sure to be grateful, to be kind. 

Can never be too late. 
175 



'C:t)omas ®twai[? 



the distinguished dramatist, son of the rector of Woebeding, was born 
at Trotton in Sussex in 1651. He commenced his career in London 
by attempting the part of the King in Mrs. Behn's piece, Forced 
Marriage, or the Jealous Bridegroom (1671), but meeting with failure 
as player he turned playwright. Then he spent time and substance 
in noble circles, where his companionship was tolerated for his wit 
and social qualities. But, having helped to rid him of his money, 
the men of rank deserted him, saving the Earl of Plymouth, who 
obtained for him a cornet's commission in some troops then sent 
into Flanders. On the death of the King's son at Tangier, in his 
twenty-second year, the poet lost his influential friend. Back again 
in London, Otway produced various pieces. Poverty seemed habitu- 
ally to pursue him, and towards the end he sought escape from his 
creditors by secreting himself in a public-house on Tower Hill. His 
death, which quickly followed, has been variously attributed to fever, 
and in the rage of hunger to choking by the first mouthful of a roll 
bought by him with money he had just begged. 

' Sunk to the cold earth Otway's famished form, 

says Coleridge, in his musings upon ' mighty poets in their misery 
dead.' Certain it is he was sadly neglected through life, and that, 
neglected, he died in 1685. The oft quoted lines — 

O woman 1 lovely woman I Nature made thee 
To temper man : we had been brutes without you ; 
Angels are painted fair, to loolc lilie you : 
There 's in you all that we believe of Heaven, 
Amazing brightness, purity, and truth. 
Eternal joy, and everlasting love — 

occur in Otway's play, Venice Preserved; or a Plot Discovered {t.()Z2). 
176 



^bomas ©tway 



The Enchantment 

I DID but look and love a-while, 
'Twas but for one half-hour ; 

Then to resist I had no will. 
And now I have no power. 

To sigh and wish is all my ease ; 

Sighs, which do best impart. 
Enough to melt the coldest ice. 

Yet cannot warm your heart. 

O would your pity give my heart 

One corner of your breast, 
'T would learn of yours the winning art 

And quickly steal the rest. 



177 



Hnne finely 



Countess of Winchilsea, the daughter of a Hampshire baronet, was 
born about 1660. Mr. Edmund Gosse, in his delightfully entertaining 
volume, Gossip in a Library (1891), mentions the acquisition by him 
of a folio volume of old manuscript poetry, which turned out to be 
a vast collection of Lady Winchilsea's poems. She was Maid of 
Honour to Mary of Modena, Duchess of York, and at Court met 
Heneage Finch, who was Gentleman of the Bedchamber to the Duke. 
They married in 1685, and at the trouble in 16S8, retired into the 
country, where they remained the rest of their lives. In 1712 her 
husband became fourth Earl of Winchilsea, and about a year later, 
Lady Winchilsea was induced to publish a selection of her poems. In 
1720 she died. The appended poem, written in 1685, was never 
printed till Mr. Gosse transcribed it from the manuscript, and 
with his permission it is here inserted, chiefly for the much 
virtue contained in the sixth line. 



To my Husband 

This, to the crown and blessing of my life, 
The much-loved husband of a happy wife ; 
To him whose constant passion found the art 
To win a stubborn and ungrateful heart ; 
And to the world by tenderest proof discovers 
They err who say that husbands can't be lovers. 
With such return by passion as is due, 
Daphnis I love, Daphnis my thoughts pursue, 
Daphnis, my hopes, my joys are bounded all in you ! 
178 



J'rancis Htterbut^ 

was born in 1662, and was educated at Westminster and Oxford. His 
eloquent preaching obtained distinction for him, and after engaging in 
a church dispute his position advanced rapidly. He was appointed 
to the Bishopric of Rochester in 1713. Exerting himself on behalf 
of the Pretender, he rendered himself obnoxious to George I., 
and was banished. He died an exile in Paris, 1731. 



Written on a White Fan 

BORROWED FROM MISS OSBORNE, AFTERWARDS 
HIS WIFE 

Flavia the least and slightest toy 

Can with resistless art employ ! 

This Fan in meaner hands would prove 

An engine of small force in love : 

Yet she with graceful air and mien. 

Not to be told, or safely seen. 

Directs its wanton motions so 

That it wounds more than Cupid's bow ; 

Gives coolness to the matchless dame. 

To every other breast — z. flame ! 



179 



MiUtam maiBb 

was afriend of Dryden and the patron of Pope. He held a place in 
Queen Anne's household. Born 1663, died 1708. 



The Despairing Lover 

Distracted with care 
For Phillis the fair, 
Since nothing could move her. 
Poor Damon, her lover, 
Resolves in despair 
No longer to languish 
Nor bear so much anguish ; 
But, mad with his love. 

To a precipice goes, 
Where a leap from above 

Would soon finish his woes. 

When in rage he came there, 
Beholding how steep 
The sides did appear. 
And the bottom how deep ; 
His torments projecting, 
And sadly reflecting 
180 



milllam malBb 

That a lover forsaken 
A new love may get, 

But a neck when once broken 
Isn't easily set ; 

And that he could die 
Whenever he would, 
But that he could live 
But as long as he could : 
How grievous soever 
The torment might grow, 
He scorned to endeavour 
To finish it so ; 
And bold, unconcerned 

At thoughts of the pain, 
He calmly returned 

To his cottage again. 



An Epistle to a Lady who had resolved 
against Marriage 

Madam, I cannot but congratulate 
Your resolution for a single state ; 
Ladies, who would live undisturbed and free. 
Must never put on Hymen's livery ; 
Perhaps its outside seems to promise fair, 
But underneath is nothing else but care. 
If once you let the Gordian knot be ty'd, 
Which turns the name of virgin into bride, 
l8l 



Xove Songs 

That one fond act your life's best scene foregoes, 
And leads you into a labyrinth of woes, 
Whose strange meanders you may search about, 
But never find the clue to let you out. 
The married life affords you little ease, 
The best of husbands is so hard to please : 
This in wives' careful faces you may spell. 
Though they dissemble their misfortunes well. 
No plague 's so great as an ill-ruling head. 
Yet 'tis a fate which few young ladies dread : 
For Love's insinuating fire they fan 
With sweet ideas of a god-like man. 
Chloris and Phyllis glory'd in their swains, 
And sung their praises on the neighbouring plains ; 
Oh ! they were brave, accomplished, charming men. 
Angels till marry'd, but proud devils then. 
Sure some resistless power with Cupid sides. 
Or we should have more virgins, fewer brides ; 
For single lives afford the most content, 
Secure and happy, as they 're innocent : 
Bright as Olympus, crown'd with endless ease, 
And calm as Neptune on the Halcyon seas : 
Your sleep is broke with no domestic cares. 
No bawling children to disturb your prayers ; 
No parting sorrows to extort your tears. 
No blustering husband to renew your fears ! 
Therefore, dear madam, let a friend advise, 
Love and its idle deity despise. 
Suppress wild Nature, if it dares rebel ; 
There 's no such thing as ' leading apes in hell.' 
182 



/Iftattbew ipriot 



was born, according to his own account, in Middlesex in 1664, and was 
educated at the expense of his uncle, a butcher, in business near Char- 
ing Cross. His scholarship attracting the attention of the Earl of 
Dorset, he was sent to St. John's College, Cambridge, and in part was 
supported out of the generosity of his patron. He took the degree of 
Bachelor of Arts in 1686, and was not long afterwards chosen Fellow. 
He wrote in conjunction with Charles Montagu, afterwards Earl of 
Halifax, a travesty of Dryden's The Hind and Pattther. For many 
years he was engaged in various diplomatic missions. It is related of 
him that he was in Paris when Le Brun's pictures of the victories of 
Louis XIV. were exhibited to him. Asked whether the King of Eng- 
land's Palace had the like to show. Prior replied, ' The monuments of 
my master's actions are to be seen everywhere but in his own house.' 
With the fall of his own party, Prior's political career ceased. The 
income from his Fellowship was now of great service to him. In his 
retirement he collected his poems, and these, published in handsome 
folio, at two guineas, produced ;£4ooo. He had in his mind a history of 
his own times, a task for which few were better qualified, being 
acquainted with many State secrets, but a lingering fever carried 
him off in 1721, before anything was written. Johnson suggests a 
certain comparison of Prior's passionless amorous effusions to Cowley's 
purely imaginative sorrows. In the lives of the two men there was 
this wide difference — Prior had some coarse experience of 
the tender sentiment of which he wrote, whilst 
Cowley had none — coarse or refined. 



The Question to Lisetta 

What nymph should I admire or trust, 
But Chloe beauteous, Chloe just ? 
What nymph should I desire to see, 
But her who leaves the plain for me ? 
14 183 



%ove Songs 

To whom should I compose the lay, 
But her who listens when I play ? 
To whom in song repeat my cares, 
But her who in my sorrow shares ? 
For whom should I the garland make. 
But her who joys the gift to take, 
And boasts she wears it for my sake? 
In love am I not fully blest ? 
Lisetta, prythee tell the rest. 



LISETTAS REPLY 

Sure Chloe just, and Chloe fair, 
Deserves to be your only care ; 
But, when she and you to-day 
Far into the wood did stray. 
And I happen'd to pass by. 
Which way did you cast your eye ? 
But, when your cares to her you sing. 
You dare not tell her whence they spring ; 
Does it not more afflict your heart. 
That in those cares she bears a part ? 
When you the flowers for Chloe twine. 
Why do you to her garland join 
The meanest bud that falls from mine ? 
Simplest of swains ! the world may see, 
Whom Chloe loves, and who loves me. 



5obn pomftet 



was born in Bedfordshire in 1667, and entering holy orders became 
rector of Maiden in his native county. He was the author of a poem 
called ' The Choice ' (1699), '" which some passages were so misunder- 
stood, that Dr. Compton, the Bishop of London, hesitated, if he did 
not actually refuse, to induct him to a more important benefice. The 
Bishop discovered his error when it was too late. Pomfret came up 
to London apparently to e.xplain matters, and here he caught the pre- 
vailing infection, of which he died in 1703. The last paragraph in his 
preface to Poems upon Several Occasions— \y\e. volume which included 
'The Choice' — may be quoted as indicating the nature of his own 
claims upon public recognition as against those of others : — 'To please 
every one would be a new thing, and to write so as to please nobody 
would be as new ; for even Quarles and Wythers have their admirers. 
The author is not so fond of fame to desire it from the injudicious 
many ; nor of so mortified a temper not to wish it from the discerning 
few. 'Tis not the multitude of applauses, but the good sense of the 
applauders, which establishes a valuable reputation ; and if a Rymer 
or a Congreve say 'tis well, he will not be at all sollicitous 
how great the majority may be to the contrary.' 



Lines to a Friend wishful 
to be Married 

I WOULD not have you choose a mate, 
From too exalted, or too mean a state, 
For in both these we may expect to find 
A creeping spirit, or a haughty mind. 
Who moves within the middle region shares 
The least disquiets, and the smallest cares, 
185 



%ovc Songs 

Let her extraction with true lustre shine ; 

If something brighter, not too bright for thine 

Her education liberal, not great ; 

Neither inferior nor above her state. 

Let her have wit ; but let that wit be free 

From affectation, pride, or pedantry : 

For the effect of woman's wit is such, 

Too little is as dangerous as too much. 

But chiefly let her humour close with thine ; 

Unless when yours does to a fault incline ; 

The least disparity in this destroys, 

Like sulphurous blasts, the very buds of joys. 

Her person amiable, straight, and free 

From natural, or chance deformity. 

Let not her years exceed, if equal thine ; 

For women past their vigour, soon decline : 

Her fortune competent ; and, if thy sight 

Can reach so far, take care 'tis gathered right. 

If thine 's enough, then hers may be the less : 

Do not aspire to riches in excess. 

For that which makes our lives delightful prove 

Is a genteel sufficiency and love. 



1 86 



(Beorge 6ran\>iUe 

Lord Lansdowne, was born in 1667. During the reign of William in. 

he remained in obscurity, but, on the accession of Queen Anne, 

entered Parliament, and held various public offices. 

He died in 1735. 



Loving at First Sight 

No warning of the approaching flame. 
Swiftly, like sudden death, it came ; 
Like travellers, by lightning killed, 
I burnt the moment I beheld. 

In whom so many charms are placed 
Is with a mind as nobly graced ; 
The case, so shining to behold. 
Is filled with richest gems, and gold. 

To what my eyes admired before 
I add a thousand graces more ; 
And fancy blows into a flame 
The spark that from her beauty came. 

The object thus improved by thought. 
By my own image I am caught ; 
Pygmalion so, with fatal art, 
Polished the form that stung his heart. 
1S7 



MtUtam (Tongreve 

was born at Bardsey, near Leeds, in 1670. He was educated first at 
a school in Kilkenny, and then at Dublin University. Arrived in 
London, he studied for the law, but the stage claimed his attentions. 
He wrote various highly successful comedies, including TJie Old 
Bachelor, Love for Love, and Tlie Way of the World, and a 
tragedy called The Mourning Bride. He died in 1729. 



The Petition 

Grant me, gentle Love, said I, 
One dear blessing ere I die ; 
Long I 've borne excess of pain, 
Let me now some bliss obtain. 

Thus to almighty Love I cried, 
When angry thus the god replied : 

Blessings greater none can have. 
Art thou not Amynta's slave ? 
Cease, fond mortal, to implore. 
For Love, even Love himself s no more. 



False though she be 

False though she be to me and love, 
I '11 ne'er pursue revenge ; 
188 



Milliant Congrcvc 

For still the charmer I approve, 
Though I deplore her change. 

In hours of bliss we oft have met, 
They could not always last ; 

And though the present I regret 
I 'm grateful for the past. 



189 



5obn ®lC)miron 



had an unfortunate disposition, his fighting propensities keeping him 

constantly on the warpath. He published a collection of his poems 

in 1696, but it met with scant favour from contemporaries. He 

was born in 1673, and died in 1742. 



I lately vow'd, but 'twas in haste 

I LATELY vow'd, but 'twas in haste, 
That I no more would court 

The joys that seem when they are past 
As dull as they are short. 

I oft to hate my mistress swear, 
But soon my weakness find ; 

I make my oaths when she 's severe. 
But break them when she 's kind. 



190 



1benr^ Care^ 



tLe author of Sally in ojtr Alley, was a highly popular writer and 

musician, and was the author of several pieces for the stage. 

He died in 1743. 



Love 's a Riddle 



The flame of love assuages, 
When once it is reveal'd ; 

But fiercer still it rages, 
The more it is conceal'd. 

Consenting makes it colder ; 

When met it will retreat : 
Repulses make it bolder, 

And dangers make it sweet. 



191 



5obn "Ibuabes 



was born at Marlborough in 1677, and whilst still engaged in com- 
mercial pursuits attained a considerable reputation as a poet. He 
also developed some slight artistic faculty. His knowledge 5f the 
science of music aided him most as a supplementary accomplishment, 
and several cantatas of which he was the author were set to music by 
Handel, Purcell, Pepusch, Galliard, etc. Not neglecting prose, he 
wrote An £ssay on ike Pleasure of being Deceived, which has the 
reputation of revealing considerable knowledge of human nature. 
He died in 1719. Pope sent a copy of Hughes's works to Swift, who 
said in a letter, ' He is too grave a poet for me ; and I think him 
among the mediocrists, in prose as well as verse.' Pope replied, 
' What he wanted in genius he made up as an honest man ; 
but he was of the class you think him.' 



To a beautiful Lady playing on the Organ. 

When famed Cecilia on the organ played, 

And filled with moving sounds the tuneful frame, 
Drawn by the charm, to hear the sacred maid, 

From heaven, 'tis said, a listening angel came. 
Thus ancient legends would our faith abuse ; 

In vain — for were the bold tradition true, 
While your harmonious touch that charm renews. 

Again the seraph would appear to you. 
O happy fair ! in whom with purest light 

Virtue's united beams with beauty shine ! 
Should heavenly guests descend to bless our sight, 

What form more lovely could they wear than thine ? 
192 



BUjab ifenton 



was born at Shelton, near Newcastle in Staffordshire, in 1683. He was 

sent to Cambridge, but ' doubting the legahty of the government, and 

refusing to qualify himself for public employment by the oaths required, 

left the University without a degree.' In 1707 he published a volume of 

poems, and became acquainted with the distinguished writers of the 

period. Fenton, with others, successfully aided Pope in his work of 

translating the Odyssey. He wrote a tragedy called ' Mariamne,' which 

Cibber rejected, but it realised for its author nearly ;Ciooo when 

produced at the theatre in Lincoln's Inn Fields (1723). He died in 1730. 

Pope and Broome seem to have entertained sincere affection for 

their friend, and, according to Johnson, 'whoever 

mentioned Fenton mentioned him 

with honour.' 



The Rose 

See, Sylvia, see this new-blown rose. 

The image of thy blush, 
Mark how it smiles upon the bush, 

And triumphs as it grows. 
' Oh, pluck it not ! We'll come anon,' 
Thou sayest. Alas ! 'twill then be gone. 

Now its purple beauty's spread, 
Soon it will drop and fall. 
And soon it will not be at all ; 

No fine things draw a length of thread. 
Then tell me, seems it not to say. 
Come on, ^nd crop me whilst you may ? 
193 



5obn 6as 

was born in Barnstaple in Devonshire in 1688, and, obtaining the friend- 
ship of Pope, succeeded in producing various pieces. His Fables were 
written in 1726. In this same year Swift visited Pope at Twickenham, 
and made suggestions to Gay which resulted in the latter producing The 
Beggars Opera. The work attained extraordinary popularity, and to 
this success is traced the rise of English light opera. His most 
popular song was ' Sweet William's Farewell to Black- 
Eyed Susan.' Gay died in 1732, 

Go, Rose, my Chloe's Bosom Grace 

Go, rose, my Chloe's bosom grace. 

How happy should I prove, 
Might I supply that envied place 

With never-fading love ! 
There, Phoenix-like, beneath her eye, 
Involved in fragrance, burn and die. 

Know, hapless flower, that thou shall find 

More fragrant roses there, 
I see thy withering head inclined 

With envy and despair ; 
One common fate we both must prove : 
You die with envy, I with love. 



194 



Xa&^ /iDat^ Mortle^ /IDontagu 

was the eldest daughter of Evelyn, Duke of Kingston, and was born 

about i6go at Thoresby in Nottinghamshire. In 1712 she married 

Edward Wortley Montagu, some time ambassador at Constantinople. 

Whilst in the East, she wrote many of her celebrated letters describing 

the manners and customs of the people with whom she was 

brought into contact. A life marked by variety 

of incident was closed in 1762. 

Dear Colin, Prevent 

Dear Colin, prevent my warm blushes, 
Since how can I speak without pain ? 

My eyes have oft told you my wishes, 
O ! can't you their meaning explain ? 

My passion would lose by expression, 
And you too might cruelly blame ; 

Then don't you expect a confession, 
Of what is too tender to name. 

Since yours is the province of speaking, 
Why should you expect it from me ? 

Our wishes should be in our keeping, 
'Till you tell us what they should be. 
'95 



Xove SonflS 

Then quickly why don't you discover ? 

Did your heart feel such tortures as mine, 
I need not tell over and over 

What I in my bosom confine. 



Colin's Answer 

Good Madam, when ladies are willing, 
A man must needs look like a fool ; 

For me, I would not give a shilling 
For one that can love without rule. 

At least you should wait for our offers. 
Nor snatch like old maids in despair ; 

If you've lived to those years without proffers, 
Your sighs are now lost in the air. 

You should leave us to guess at your blushing 
And not speak the matter too plain ; 

'Tis ours to be forward and pushing ; 
'Tis yours to affect a disdain. 

That you're in a terrible taking 
From all your fond oglings I see ! 

But the fruit that will fall without shaking 
Indeed is too mellow for me. 

196 



IRlcbarb Savaoe 



was bom in London in 1697, and died a debtor in jail at Bristol in 1743. 
He devoted too much energy to an effort to be regarded as a son of 
Earl Rivers. Discarded by his mother, his father dead, poverty dogged 
his footsteps. He found a generous friend in Sir Richard Steele, and 
a companion in Johnson, who, too, tasted much of the bitter cup of 
neglect. In 1744, Johnson wrote his Life of Savage, which of all his 
Lives oftlie Poets is perhaps the best, in the sense of being the most 
intensely sympathetic. A life such as that of Savage, full of the strangest 
vicissitudes, has furnished material to the novelist and the dramatist. 
Charles Whitehead, an early contemporary of Dickens, wrote a storj\ 
Whitehead himself was something of a neglected genius, but he too has 
found a Johnson in Mr. Mackenzie Bell (Charles Whitehead: A 
Forgotten Genius, 1885), who speaks of Richard Savage : A Romance of 
Real Life, as having the merit of vivifying in a marvellously realistic 
manner the historical character of the story. Still more recently a play 
entitled ' Richard Savage,' by Mr. J. M. Barrie and Mr. 
H. M. B. Watson, was produced in London. 



Verses to a Young Lady 

Polly, from me, though now a love-sick youth, 
Nay, though a poet, hear the voice of truth ! 
Polly, you're not a beauty, yet you're pretty ; 
So grave, yet gay, so silly, yet so witty ; 
A heart of softness, yet a tongue of satire ; 
You've cruelty, yet, ev'n with that, good nature : 
Now you are free, and now reserv'd awhile ; 
Now a forc'd frown betrays a willing smile. 
197 



%ove Songs 

Reproach'd for absence, yet your sight deny'd ; 

My tongue you silence, yet my silence chide. 

How would you praise me, should your sex defame ! 

Yet, should they praise, grow jealous, and exclaim. 

If I despair, with some kind look you bless ; 

But if I hope, at once all hope suppress. 

You scorn ; yet should my passion change, or fail. 

Too late you'd whimper out a softer tale. 

You love ; yet from your lover's wish retire ; 

Doubt, yet discern ; deny, and yet desire. 

Such, Polly, are your sex — part truth, part fiction. 

Some thought, much whim, and all a contradiction. 



198 



IRobert 2)o&6les 



who was born at Mansfield in Nottinghamshire in 1703 was a footman 
in the service of the Hon. Mrs. Lowther when his first book, The JSIuse 
in Livery, was published. He next wrote a dramatic piece entitled 
'The Toy Shop,' and. Pope standing as his friend, its production at 
Covent Garden followed with great success in 1735. In this same year 
he entered upon a business career, opening a bookseller's shop in Pall 
Mall, and numbered Chesterfield, Lyttelton, Shenstone, and Johnson 
among his active friends. He was the author of a moral treatise. The 
Econoviy of Human Lijc , v/\nc\i was attributed to Chesterfield. He 
rendered an important service to dramatic literature by the publication 
of a collection of old English plays. The Annual Register, a work upon 
which Burke was engaged during many successive years, was started by him 
in 1 758. He died in 1 764. He was the author of such v erses as these : — 

Come, my fairest ! learn of me, 

Learn to give and take the bliss ! 
Come ! my love, here's none but we . 

I'll instruct thee how to kiss. 

Throw thy lovely twining arras 

Round my neck, or round my waist ; 
And, whilst I devour thy charms, 

Let me closely be embraced. 

To my breast with rapture cling I 

Look with transport on my face I 
Kiss me, press me 1 everything 

To endear the fond embrace. 

Yet why did a master so accomplished in the art of love 
remain a bachelor ? 



The Parting Kiss 

One kind kiss before we part, 
Drop a tear, and bid adieu : 

Though we sever, my fond heart 
Till we meet shall pant for you. 
15 '99 



Hove Songs 

Yet, yet, weep not so, my love. 
Let me kiss that falling tear. 

Though my body must remove, 
All my soul will still be here. 

All my soul and all my heart. 
And every wish shall pant for you ; 

One kind kiss then ere we part, 
Drop a tear and bid adieu. 

The Borrowed Kiss 

Chloe, by that borrow'd kiss, 
I, alas ! am quite undone ; 

'Twas so sweet, so fraught with bliss 
Thousands will not pay that one. 

' Lest the debt should break your heart 
Roguish Chloe smiling cries, 

' Come, a hundred then in part 
For the present shall suffice.' 



Soame Jen^ns 

was the son of Sir Roger Jenyns, and was born in London m 1704. In 

his political career, he gained some distinction as an upholder of the 

Ministry for the time being. His reward was a commissionership. He 

was regarded as something of a wit, was accounted a shrewd man, and 

acted the part of magistrate and country gentleman with success. 

Besides a considerable body of poetry, he was the author of Free 

Enquiry into the Nature and Origin 0/ Evil ; A View of 

the Internal Evidence of the Christian Religion, 

political tracts, etc. He died in 1787. 

Cupid Relieved 

As once young Cupid went astray, 

The little god I found ; 
I took his bow and shafts away, 

And fast his pinions bound. 

At Chloe's feet my spoils I cast, 

My conquest proud to shew ; 
She saw his godship fetter'd fast. 

And smil'd to see him so. 

But ah ! that smile such fresh supplies 

Of arms resistless gave ! 
I'm forc'd again to yield my prize, 

And fall again his slave. 
201 



Ibenrg ifielbfng 



was novelist, dramatist, poet, journalist, and lawyer, and in every walk 
he distinguished himself. As the author of Tom Jones and Joseph 
A ndreivs, however, he holds his place of eminence, and within recent 
years a magnificent edition of his works has appeared. He was born in 
1707, and died in 1754. The following poem seems to say 
that a lady's pocket used to be in her bosom. 

On a Halfpenny 

WHICH A YOUNG LADY GAVE A BEGGAR, AND WHICH 
THE AUTHOR REDEEMED FOR HALF-A-CROWN 

Dear little, pretty, favourite ore, 
That once increased Gloriana's store ; 
That lay within her bosom blest, 
Gods might have envied thee thy rest ! 
I've read, imperial Jove of old 
For love transform'd himself to gold ; 
And why for a more lovely lass 
May he not now have lurk'd in brass ? 
O, rather than from her he'd part 
He'd shut that charitable heart, 
That heart whose goodness nothing less 
Than his vast power eould dispossess. 
From Gloriana's gentle touch 
Thy mighty value now is such, 
That thou to me art worth alone 
More than his medals are to Sloane. 



(Beor^e, %ox^ X^ttelton 

was born at Hagley in Worcestershire in 1709. He occupied various 
high positions in the State, including that of Chancellor of the Exchequer. 
In 1757 he was raised to the peerage, and a year or two afterwards with- 
drew himself from public affairs. In early life he entertained sceptical 
opinions, but his later work shows the re-establishment of his faith. He 
was the author of a Dissertation on the Conversion 0/ St. Paul ; 
Dialogues o/the Dead; Histo7y of Henry 11. ; and 
Poems. He died in 1773. 



To him that in an hour must die 

To him that in an hour must die, 
Not swifter seems that hour to fly, 
Than slow the minutes seem to me 
Which keep me from the sight of thee. 

No more that trembling wretch would give 

Another day or year to live. 

Than I to shorten what remains 

Of that long hour which thee detains. 

Oh ! come to my impatient arms, 

Oh ! come with all thy heavenly charms. 

At once to justify and pay 

The pain I feel from this delay. 

203 



Samuel ?obnson 

The writings of Johnson have been so frequently quoted in this 
volume, that litttle remains to be said here. He was born in Lichfield 
in 1709, and completed his education at Oxford. Early in life he drifted 
to London with his friend David Garrick. He was involved in much 
literary drudgery, from which release came tardily. For his Dictionary 
of the English Language, which appeared in 1755, he was paid ;ii57S, 
a trifling return for the work it entailed and the expense it involved. 
He remained, therefore, in poor circumstances, but he was happily 
relieved by a pension of £'ioo. In 1773 he visited Scotland in company 

with Boswell, and a diary of the tour was published. In 1775 

Oxford conferred upon him the degree of LL.D., and in 1779 

he composed his Lives o/the Poets. He died in 1784. 

An Ode to Stella 

Whether Stella's eyes are found 
Fix'd on earth or glancing round, 
If her face with pleasure glow, 
If she sigh at others' woe, 
If her easy air express 
Conscious worth, or soft distress, 
Stella's eyes, and air, and face. 
Charm with undiminish'd grace. 

If on her we see display 'd 
Pendant gems and rich brocade. 
If her chintz with less expense 
Flows in easy negligence ; 
204 



Samuel ^obnson 

Still she lights the conscious flame, 
Still her charms appear the same. 
If she strikes the vocal strings, 
If she's silent, speaks, or sings. 
If she sit, or if she move. 
Still we love, and still approve. 

Vain the casual, transient glance, 
Which alone can please by chance. 
Beauty, which depends on art. 
Changing with the changing art, 
Which demands the toilet's aid. 
Pendant gems and rich brocade. 
I those charms alone can prize. 
Which from constant nature rise, 
Which nor circumstance, nor dress, 
E'er can make or more or less. 



205 



IRicbart) 5a^o 

was born in Warwickshire in 1715, and in 1771 he was presented to the 

rectory of Kimcote in Leicestershire. He wrote a poem 

called Edge Hill. He died in 1781. 

Absence 

With leaden foot time creeps along 

While Delia is away, 
With her, nor plaintive was the song, 

Nor tedious was the day. 

Ah ! envious power 1 reverse my doom, 

Now double thy career ; 
Strain every nerve, stretch every plume, 

And rest them when she's here. 



2o6 



Milliam MbftebeaO 

succeeded CoUey Gibber as poet laureate after the post had been declined 

by Gray. He was the son of a baker in Gambridge, where he was born 

in 1715. He was the author of several elegant poems as well 

as some dramatic pieces. He died in 1785. 

The Double Conquest 

Of music, and of beauty's power, 
I doubted much and doubted long ; 

The fairest face a gaudy flower, 
An empty sound the sweetest song. 

But when her voice Clarinda rais'd. 
And sung so sweet, and smil'd so gay. 

At once I listen'd, and I gaz'd ; 

And heard, and look'd my soul away. 

To her, of all his beauteous train, 

This wondrous power had Love assign'd, 

A Double Conquest to obtain, 

And cure at once the deaf and blind. 



207 



Samuel Bisbop 



was the author of some miscellaneous essays and poems, the best of the 
latter being addressed to his wife. Mr. Locker-Lampson says of him, 
' Had he lived in the nineteenth instead of the eighteenth century, he 
would probably have shown his good sense by being an enthusiastic 
reader of Mr. Coventry Patmore.' Bishop was a clergyman and master 
of the Merchant Taylors' School. He was born in 1731, 
and died in 1795. 



To his Wife 

ON THE SIXTEENTH ANNIVERSARY OF HER WEDDING-DAY, 
WITH A RING 

'Thee, Mary, with this ring I wed,' 
So sixteen years ago I said — 
Behold another ring ! * for what ? ' 
To wed thee o'er again — why not ? 

With the first ring I married youth, 
Grace, beauty, innocence, and truth ; 
Taste long admired, sense long revered, 
And all my Molly then appear'd. 

If she, by merit since disclosed. 
Prove twice the woman I supposed, 
I plead that double merit now. 
To justify a double vow. 

Here then to-day, with faith as sure, 
With ardour as intense and pure, 
208 



Samuel asisbop 

As when amidst the rites divine 
I took thy troth, and plighted mine, 
To thee, sweet girl, my second ring, 
A token and a pledge I bring ; 
With this I wed, till death us part, 
Thy riper virtues to my heart ; 
Those virtues which, before untried. 
The wife has added to the bride — 
Those virtues, whose progressive claim, 
Endearing wedlock's very name, 
My soul enjoys, my song approves, 
For conscience' sake as well as love's. 

For why ? They teach me hour by hour 
Honour's high thought, affection's power, 
Discretion's deed. Sound judgment's sentence. 
And teach me all things — but repentance. 



209 



MilUam Cowpec 



was born at the rectory of Great Berkhampstead in 1731, and was 
educated at Westminster School. He studied for the bar, and was 
called in 1754. He was, however, of too nervous and highly sensitive a 
temperament to practise, and the prospect of an examination by the House 
of Lords, as to his fitness for a post to which he had been presented, 
drove him to madness. When he left the lunatic asylum, he gave up all 
idea of exercising his profession, and retired upon a small allowance 
from members of his family. He lived in quietness with the Rev. Mr. 
Unwin and his wife, and after the death of Mr. Unwin he removed with 
Mrs. Unwin to Olney in Buckinghamshire. An acquaintanceship sprang 
up between them and Lady Austen, by whom the story of John Gilpin 
was told to Cowper. Mrs. Unwin ultimately became jealous of the in- 
fluence of Lady Austen, and at her request Cowper asked Lady Austen 
not to return to Olney. Later, Cowper's life was again overshadowed 
by his old infirmity. His last work was a translation of Homer into 
blank verse. He died in 1800. Cowper wrote little which could with 
absolute and perfect suitability be included in a volume of amatorial 
verse ; but I have ventured to give some varying examples of his treat- 
ment of love. Here is the introduction to one of his poems : — 

What is there in the vale of life 
Half so delightful as a wife, 
When friendship, love, and peace combine 
To stamp the marriage-bond divine? 
The stream of pure and genuine love 
Derives its current from above ; 
And earth a second Eden shows, 
Where'er the healing water flows. 

But Cowper could deal with the theme in a facetious vein : — 

If John marries Mary, and Mary alone, 

'Tis a very good match between Mary and John. 

Should John wed a score, oh, the claws and the scratches I 

It can't be a match— 'tis a bundle of matches. 

210 



XClUUam Cowpct 

A Comparison 

ADDRESSED TO A YOUNG LADY 

Sweet stream that winds through yonder glade, 

Apt emblem of a virtuous maid — 

Silent and chaste she steals along, 

Far from the world's gay busy throng ; 

With gentle yet prevailing force, 

Intent upon her destined course ; 

Graceful and useful all she does, 

Blessing and blest where'er she goes. 

Pure-bosom'd as that watery glass. 

And heaven reflected in her face. 



Delia 

Oh ! to some distant scene, a willing exile 

From the wild roar of this busy world. 

Were it my fate with Delia to retire, 

With her to wander through the sylvan shade, 

Each morn, or o'er the moss-embrowned turf. 

Where, blest as the prime parents of mankind 

In their own Eden, we would envy none, 

But, greatly pitying whom the world calls happy, 

Gently spin out the silken thread of life ! 



Cbatles 2)fb&(n 

the famous author of some thousand sea songs, was born at Southamp- 
ton in 1745. He was intended for the church, but took to music 
and the stage, for which he had strong inclination 
and great natural talent. He died in 1814. 



If 'tis Love to wish you near 

If 'tis love to wish you near, 

To tremble when the wind I hear, 

Because at sea you floating rove ; 
If of you to dream at night, 
To languish when you're out of sight, — 

If this be loving, then I love. 

If, when you're gone, to count each hour. 
To ask of every tender power 

That you may kind and faithful prove, 
If, void of falsehood and deceit, 
I feel a pleasure when we meet, — 

If this be loving, then I love. 

To wish your fortune to partake, 
Determined never to forsake, 

Though low in poverty we strove j 
If, so that me your wife you'd call, 
I offer you my little all, — 

If this be loving, then I love. 



mtlUam Blafte 

designer, painter, engraver, and poet, was born in London in 
1757, and died there in 1827. 

Cupid 

Why was Cupid a boy, 

And why a boy was he ? 
He should have been a girl, 

For aught that I can see. 

For he shoots with his bow, 
And the girl shoots with her eye ; 

And they both are merry and glad, 
And laugh when we do cry. 

Then to make Cupid a boy 

Was surely a woman's plan, 
For a boy never learns so much 

Till he has become a man : 

And then he's so pierced with cares, 
And wounded with arrowy smarts. 

That the whole business of his life 
Is to pick out the heads of the darts. 

213 



MilUam Morbswortb 

was born at Cockermouth in 1770. Early in life Coleridge and Words- 
worth became friends, and in 1798 a.ppea.red Lyrical Ballads (o{ which 
a fac-simile was issued by Professor Dowden, iSgo). Coleridge con- 
tributed his Ancient Mariner, and Wordsworth a number of shorter 
poems, the most popular among them being IFe are Seven. The issue 
of this volume is regarded as an epoch in the history of English literature. 
Wordsworth freed himself of the influence of previous generations, became 
a poet of nature, and, attracted, no doubt, by the methods of Burns, or 
rather his total disregard for all conventional forms, adopted that 
simplicity of style for which ever afterwards he sought and perhaps 
sometimes even strained. His career was comparatively uneventful. 
He lived in the English Lake district, and contented himself with 'plain 
living and high thinking.' In 1843 he succeeded another ' Lake poet,' 
Southey, as poet laureate, and died at Rydal in 1850. Some of the 
' simple ' poetry of Wordsworth has received a full measure of ridicule. 
Byron spoke of his ' trash,' Home of many of his poems as ' trivial or 
puerile' ; but there is no mistaking the admiration his work has evoked 
from most competent critics. 'I believe,' says Coleridge, 'that mighty 
voice has not been poured out in vain ; that there are hearts that have 
received into their inmost depths all its varying tones ; and that even 
now there are many to whom the name of Wordsworth calls up the 
recollection of their weakness, and the consciousness of their strength.' 
A later critic, Matthew Arnold, says, ' I firmly believe that the poetical 
performance of Wordsworth is, after that of Shakespeare and Milton, 
of which all the world now recognises the worth, undoubtedly the most 
considerable in our language from the Elizabethan age to the present 
time ' ; the critic believing that the work of Wordsworth will finally stand 
above Spenser, Dryden, Burns, Coleridge, Byron, Shelley, and Keats ; 
for, ' taking the performance of each as a whole, I say that Wordsworth 
seems to me to have left a body of poetical work superior in power, 
interest, in the qualities which give enduring freshness, 
to that which anyone of the others has left.' 

214 



•CQKUiam "CdorOswortb 
She was a Phantom of Deh'ght 

She was a Phantom of delight 
When first she gleamed upon my sight ; 
A lovely Apparition, sent 
To be a moment's ornament ; 
Her eyes as stars of Twilight fair ; 
Like Twilight's, too, her dusky hair ; 
But all things else about her drawn 
From May-time and the cheerful Dawn ; 
A dancing Shape, an Image gay, 
To haunt, to startle, and waylay. 

I saw her upon nearer view, 

A Spirit, yet a Woman too ! 

Her household motions light and free, 

And steps of virgin liberty ; 

A countenance in which did meet 

Sweet records, promises as sweet ; 

A Creature not too bright or good 

For human nature's daily food ; 

For transient sorrows, simple wiles, 

Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles. 

And now I see with eye serene 
The very pulse of the machine ; 
A Being breathing thoughtful breath, 
A Traveller betwixt life and death ; 
i6 215 



3Love Songs 

The reason firm, the temperate will, 
Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill, 
A perfect Woman, nobly planned. 
To warn, to comfort, and command ; 
And yet a Spirit still, and bright 
With something of an angel light. 

She Dwelt among Untrodden Ways 

She dwelt among the untrodden ways 

Beside the springs of Dove, 
A Maid whom there were none to praise, 

And very few to love. 

A Violet by a mossy stone 

Half-hidden from the eye ! 
— Fair as a star, when only one 

Is shining in the sky. 

She lived unknown, and few could know 

When Lucy ceased to be ; 
But she is in her grave, and, oh, 

The difference to me ! 

I Travelled among Unknown Men 

I TRAVELLED among unknown men, 

In lands beyond the sea ; 
Nor, England ! did I know till then 

What love I bore to thee. 
216 



"HCltUlam imorDswoctb 

'Tis past, that melancholy dremi 1 

Nor will I quit thy shore 
A second time ; for still I seem 

To love thee more and more. 

Among thy mountains did I feel 

The joy of my desire ; 
And she I cherished turned her wheel 

Beside an English fire. 

Thy mornings showed, thy nights concealed 
The bowers where Lucy played ; 

And thine is too the last green field 
That Lucy's eyes surveyed. 



217 



Ubomas BibDin 

In a minor way both Thomas and Charles, sons of the famous author of 

Tom Bowling, distinguished themselves in the preparation of popular 

entertainments in London. Thomas, the author of this song,- 

was born in 1771, and died in 1841. 

The Lover's Promise 

The sun its bright rays may withhold, love, 

Unreflected the moonbeams may be ; 
But ne'er, till this bosom is cold, love, 
Shall its pulse throb for any but thee : 
For thou art the joy of my heart, love, 

Thy beauties all beauty outvie ; 
And ere with thine image I'll part, love, 
Thy lover, thy husband, would die. 

The spring's lovely verdure may turn, love, 

To autumn's sad colourless hue ; 
The winter like summer may burn, love. 

Ere my ardour it lessens for you : 
For thou art the joy, etc. 



218 



Samuel Ua^lor Colerlb^e 

poet, philosopher and metaphysician, the greatest genius, it may be, 
since Shakespeare, certainly the largest, deepest, and most ineffectual 
genius of this century, was born at Ottery St. Mary in Devonshire 
in 1772. His career opened with great wealth of promise, and when its 
eventful course closed in London in 1834, only a small measure of his 
life-work was done. Coleridge was conscious of this, and li'ork 
■without Hope, and Youth and Age are poems touchingly expressive 
of his sense of lost opportunities. ' He is,' said De Quincey, ' the 
largest and most spacious intellect, the subtlest and most comprehensive 
that has yet existed among men." Landor said, 'Impiety to Shake- 
speare! treason to Milton I I give up all the rest, even Bacon. Certainly, 
since their day we have had nothing comparable with him. Byron and 
Scott were but as gun-flints to a granite mountain.' But Coleridge had 
no popular sympathies. He himself wrote : ' I expect neither profit nor 
general fame by my writings ; and I consider myself as having been 
amply repaid without either. Poetry has been to me its own "exceeding 
great reward " ; it has soothed my affliction, it has multiplied and 
refined my enjoyments, it has endeared solitude, and it has given 
me the habit of wishing to discover the good and 
beautiful in all that meets and surrounds me." 



Names 

I ASKED my fair one happy day, 
What I should call her in my lay ; 

By what sweet name from Rome or Greece ; 
Lalage, Ne3era, Chloris, 
Sappho, Lesbia, or Doris, 
Arelhusa or Lucrece. 
219 



Xove Songs 

'Ah !' replied my gentle fair, 
'Beloved, what are names but air? 

Choose thou whatever suits the line ; 
Call me Sappho, call me Chloris, 
Call me Lalage or Doris, 

Only, only call me thine.' 



Love's Burial Place 

Lady. — If love be dead — Poet. — And I aver it ! 

Lady. — Tell me, Bard, where love lies buried. 

Poet. — Love lies buried where 'twas born : 

Oh, gentle dame ! think it no scorn 

If, in my fancy, I presume 

To call thy bosom poor love's tomb, 

And on that tomb to read the line, — 

' Here lies a love that once seem'd mine, 

But took a chill, as I divine, 

And died at length of a decline.' 

L^Envoy 

In vain we supplicate the Powers above ; 
There is no resurrection for the love 
That, nursed in tenderest care, yet fades away 
In the chill'd heart by gradual self-decay. 



Samuel tlagloc ColertDge 

Glycine 

A SUNNY shaft did I behold, 

From sky to earth it slanted, 
And pois'd therein a Bird so bold — 

Sweet bird ! thou wert enchanted I 
He sank, he rose, he twinkled, troU'd, 

Within that shaft of sunny mist : 
His eyes of Fire, his beak of Gold, 

All else of Amethyst ! 
And thus he sang : Adieu ! Adieu ! 

Love's dreams prove seldom true. 
Sweet month of May ! we must away 
Far, far away ! 
To-day ! to-day ! 



Not at Home 

That Jealousy may rule a mind 
Where Love could never be, 

I know ; but ne'er expect to find 
Love without Jealousy. 

She has a strange cast in her e'e, 
A swart sour-visaged maid, — 

But yet Love's own twin-sister she, 
His house-mate and his shade 

221 



Xove Songs 

Ask for her and she'll be denied : — 

What then ? they only mean 
Their mistress has lain down to sleep, 

And can't just then be seen. 

Farewell to Love 

Farewell, sweet Love ! yet blame you not my truth ; 

More fondly ne'er did mother eye her child 
Than I your form : yours were my hopes of youth, 

And as you shaped my thoughts, I sighed or smiled. 
"While most were wooing wealth, or gaily swerving 

To pleasure's secret haunt, and some apart 
Stood strong in pride, self conscious of deserving, 

To you I gave my whole weak wishing heart ; 
And when I met the maid that realised 

Your fair creations, and had won her kindness, 
Say but for her if aught on earth I prized ! 

Your dreams alone I dreamt, and caught your blindness. 
O grief — but farewell, Love ! I will go play me 

With thoughts that please me less, and less betray me. 

To a Lady 

'Tis not the lily brow I prize, 

Nor roseate cheeks, nor sunny eyes, — 

Enough of lilies and of roses ! 
A thousand fold more dear to me 

The look that gentle love discloses, — 
That look which Love alone can see. 

222 



Samuel ^ra^Ior Coleri&ge 
Love 

All thoughts, all passions, all delights, 
Whatever stirs this mortal frame, 
Are all but ministers of Love, 
And feed his sacred flame. 

Oft in my waking dreams do I 
Live o'er again that happy hour. 
When midway on the mount I lay, 
Beside the ruined tower. 

The moonshine, stealing o'er the scene, 
Had blended with the lights of eve ; 
And she was there, my hope, my joy, 
My own dear Genevieve ! 

She leaned against the armed man. 
The statue of the armed knight ; 
She stood and listened to my lay, 
Amid the lingering light. 

Few sorrows hath she of her own. 
My hope ! my joy ! my Genevieve ; 
She loves me best whene'er I sing 
The songs that make her grieve. 

I played a soft and doleful air, 
I sang an old and moving story — 
An old rude song, that suited well 
That ruin wild and hoary. 
223 



Xove Songs 

She listened with a flitting blush, 
With downcast eyes and modest grace 
For well she knew I could not choose 
But gaze upon her face. 

I told her of the Knight that wore 
Upon his shield a burning brand ; 
And that for ten long years he wooed 
The Lady of the Land. 

I told her how he pined : and ah ! 
The deep, the low, the pleading tone 
With which I sang another's love 
Interpreted my own. 

She listened with a flitting blush. 
With downcast eyes, and modest grace ; 
And she forgave me, that I gazed 
Too fondly on her face ! 

But when I told the cruel scorn 
That crazed that bold and lovely Knight, 
And that he crossed the mountain- woods. 
Nor rested day nor night ; 

That sometimes from the savage den, 
And sometimes from the darksome shade, 
And sometimes starting up at once 
In green and sunny glade, — 
224 



Samuel ^aglor Colerioge 

There came and looked him in the face 
An angel beautiful and bright ; 
And that he knew it was a Fiend, 
This miserable Knight ! 

And that, unknowing what he did, 
He leaped amid a murderous band, 
And saved from outrage worse than death 
The Lady of the Land ; — 

And how she wept, and clasped his knees ; 
And how she tended him in vain — 
And ever strove to expiate 

The scorn that crazed his brain ; — 

And that she nursed him in a cave ; 
And how his madness went away, 
When on the yellow forest-leaves 
A dying man he lay ; — 

His dying words — but when I reached 
That tenderest strain of all the ditty. 
My faltering voice and pausing harp 
Disturbed her soul with pity ! 

All impulses of soul and sense 
Had thrilled my guileless Genevieve ; 
The music and the doleful tale. 
The rich and balmy eve ; 
225 



Xove Songe 

And hopes, and fears that kindle hope, 
An undistinguishable throng, 
And gentle wishes long subdued, 
Subdued and cherished long I 

She wept with pity and delight. 
She blushed with love, and virgin shame ; 
And, like the murmur of a dream, 
I heard her breathe my name. 

Her bosom heaved — she stepped aside. 
As conscious of my look she stept — 
Then suddenly, with timorous eye, 
She fled to me and wept. 

She half inclosed me with her arms, 
She pressed me with a meek embrace ; 
And, bending back her head, looked up. 
And gazed upon my face. 

'Twas partly love, and partly fear. 
And partly 'twas a bashful art. 
That I might rather feel, than see. 
The swelling of her heart. 

I calmed her fears, and she was calm. 
And told her love with virgin pride ; 
And so I won my Genevieve, 

My bright and beauteous Bride. 
226 



Samuel Q;a^Ior ColeclDfic 



Love is a Sword 

Tho' veiled in spires of myrtle wreath, 
Love is a sword that cuts its sheath, 
And thro' the clefts itself has made 
We spy the flashes of the blade ! 

But thro' the clefts itself had made 
We likewise see Love's flashing blade 
By rust consumed or snapt in twain : 
And only hilt and stump remain. 



225? 



/Iftattbew (Bregor^ Xewls 

was the author of a novel called Ainhrosio ; or, the Monk (1795)) which 

was so full of the horrible and weird that it had to be expurgated before 

it could be generally circulated. ' Monk ' Lewis, as he was called, 

was born in 1775 and died in 1818. 



I never could love till now 

When I gazed on a beautiful face, 

Or a form which my fancy approved, 
I was pleased with its sweetness and grace, 

And falsely believed that I loved. 
But my heart, though I strove to deceive, 

The imposture it would not allow ; 
I could look, I could like, I could leave, 

But I never could love — till now. 

Yet though I from others could rove. 

Now harbour no doubt of my truth. 
Those flames were not lighted by love. 

They were kindled by folly and youth. 
But no longer of reason bereft. 

On your hand, that pure altar, I vow, 
Though I've looked, and I've liked, and have left — 

That I never have loved — till now. 
228 



IRobert Soutbe^ 

was born in Bristol in 1774, and was educated first at various schools 
near home, and then at Westminster, entering Balliol College, Oxford, 
in 1792. He became acquainted with Coleridge, and out of their com- 
bined republicanisms came Pantisocracy, the scheme being the establish- 
ment of a state of society that should be free from the inequality and 
artificiality of existing conditions. In 1804 Southey resolved upon the 
profession of letters, and took up his residence on the banks of the Greta, 
at Keswick. In 1813 he became poet laureate, in 1821 Oxford conferred 
on him the degree of D.C.L. He declined a baronetcy, but in 1835 
accepted a pension of £2°°- He died in 1843. A long list of works 
includes poetrj', biography and historj'. Southey had rather 
an exalted notion of his place as a poet. 

Love's Immortality 

They sin who tell us Love can die ! 
With life all other passions fly ; 
All others are but vanity. 
In heaven ambition cannot dwell, 
Nor avarice in the vaults of hell ; 
Earthly these passions, as of earth, 
They perish where they have their birth ; 

But Love is indestructible, 
Its holy flame for ever burneth, 
From heaven it came, to heaven returneth : 
For oft on earth a troubled guest. 
At times deceived, at times oppressed, 

It here is tried and purified, 
And hath in heaven ils perfect rest. 
229 



Xove Songs 

It soweth here with toil and care, 
But the harvest-time of Love is there. 
Oh ! when a mother meets on high 
The babe she lost in infancy, 
Hath she not then, for pains and fears, 
The day of woe, the anxious night. 
For all her sorrows, all her tears, 
An overpayment of delight ? 



230 



Cbarlcs Xamb 

the most sincerely beloved of all English writers, was born in London in 

1775. In 1796 his sister in a fit of madness killed her mother. Lamb's 

own reason had been unsettled, but, recovering, he renounced a youthful 

affection, and nobly devoted his life to the care of his sister. In the 

whole range of biography there is not an incident more deeply pathetic. 

Mary identified herself with some of her brother's work, notably 

Tales frovt Shakespeare. Lamb died in 1834, from the 

results of a slight fall. 



To Hester Savory 

When maidens such as Hester die, 
Their place we may not well supply, 
Though we among a thousand try 

With vain endeavour. 
A month or more hath she been dead, 
Yet cannot I by force be led 
To think upon the wormy bed 

And her together. 

A springy motion in her gait, 

A rising step, did indicate 

Of pride and joy no common rate 

That flushed her spirit : 
I know not by what name beside 
I shall it call ; if 'twas not pride. 
It was a joy to that allied 
She did inherit. 
17 231 



Xove Songs 

Her parents held the Quaker rule 
Which doth the human feeling cool ; 
But she was train'd in Nature's school, 

Nature had blest her. 
A waking eye, a prying mind, 
A heart that stirs, is hard to bind ; 
A hawk's keen sight ye cannot blind, 

Ye could not Hester. 

My sprightly neighbour ! gone before 
To that unknown and silent shore, 
Shall we not meet, as heretofore, 

Some summer morning — 
When from thy cheerful eyes a ray 
Hath struck a bliss upon the day, 
A bliss that would not go away, 

A sweet fore- warning? 

A Sonnet on Christian Names : Written in 
the Album of Miss Edith Southey 

In Christian world Mary the garland wears ! 
Rebecca sweetens on a Hebrew's ear ; 
Quakers for pure Priscilla are more clear ; 
And the light Gaul by amorous Ninon swears. 
Among the lesser lights how Lucy shines ! 
What air of fragrance Rosamond throws around ! 
How like a hymn doth sweet Cecilia sound ! 
Of Marthas, and of Abigails, few lines 
232 



Cbarles Xamb 

Have bragged in verse. Of coarsest household stufif 

Should homely Joan be fashioned. But can 

You Barbara resist, or Marian ? 

And is not Clare for love excuse enough ? 

Yet, by my faith in numbers, I profess, 

These all, than Saxon Edith, please me less. 



233 



TMIlalter Savage Xan&or 

belonged to a Warwickshire family, and was born in 1775. He devoted 
his literary talent first to poetry, and addressed a lady under the name 
of ' lanthe.' He wrote one or two plays, but his Imaginary Conversa- 
tions first assured his position as a man of genius. Landor had no 
popular sympathies, but this knowledge did not weigh with him, for he 
declared, ' Ten accomplished men are esteemed by me a sufficient 
audience.' He was self-willed and impetuous. Meeting a young lady 
at a ball in 1811, on the instant he determined to marry her, and 
he did it. He had leisure to repent and write, ' Death 
itself to the reflective mind is less serious than 
marriage.' He died in 1864. 



Dreams 

It often comes into my head 

That we may dream when we are dead, 

But I am far from sure we do. 
O that it were so ! then my rest 
Would be indeed among the blest ; 

I should for ever dream of you. 

Her Lips 

Often I have heard it said 
That her lips are ruby-red. 
Little heed I what they say, 
I have seen as red as they. 
Ere she smiled on other men 
Real rubies were they then. 
234 



"CQlaltcr Savage OLan&or 

When she kiss'd me once in play, 
Rubies were less bright than they, 
And less bright were those that shone 
In the palace of the Sun. 
Will they be as bright again ? 
Not if kiss'd by other men. 



Rose Aylmer 

Ah ! what avails the sceptred race ? 

Ah ! what the form divine ? 
What every virtue, every grace ? 

Rose Aylmer, all were thine. 
Rose Aylmer, whom these wakeful eyes 

May weep, but never see, 
A night of memories and of sighs 

I consecrate to thee. 



Feathers 

There falls with every wedding chime 
A feather from the wing of Time. 
You pick it up, and say, * How fair 
To look upon its colours are ! ' 
Another drops, day after day, 
Unheeded ; not one word you say : 
When bright and dusky are blown past, 
Upon the hearse there nods the last. 
235 



Xove Songs 
The Maid's Lament 

I LOVED him not ; and yet, now he is gone, 

I feel I am alone. 
I check'd him while he spoke ; yet could he speak, 

Alas ! I would not check. 
For reasons not to love him once I sought. 

And wearied all my thought 
To vex myself and him ; I now would give 

My love, could he but live 
Who lately lived for me, and, when he found 

'Twas vain, in holy ground 
He hid his face amid the shades of death. 

I waste for him my breath 
Who wasted his for me ; but mine returns, 

And this lorn bosom burns 
With stifling heat, heaving it up in sleep, 

And waking me to weep 
Tears that had melted his soft heart : for years 

Wept he as bitter tears. 
' Merciful God ! ' — such was his latest prayer — 

' These may she never share ! ' 
Quieter is his breath, his breast more cold 

Than daisies in the mould, 
Where children spell athwart the churchyard -gate 

His name and life's brief date. 
Pray for him, gentle souls ! whoe'er you be ; 

And O, pray too for me 
236 



Walter Savage ILanDor 

To a Fair Maiden 

Fair maiden ! when I look at thee, 
I wish I could be young and free ; 
But both at once, ah ! who could be ? 



I held her hand 

I HELD her hand, the pledge of bliss, 
Her hand that trembled and withdrew ; 

She bent her head before my kiss, 
My heart was sure that hers was true. 

Now I have told her I must part, 
She shakes my hand, she bids adieu, 

Nor shuns the kiss. Alas, my heart ! 
Hers never was the heart for you. 



Tears 

Mine fall, and yet a tear of hers 
Would swell, not soothe their pain ; 

Ah, if she look but at these tears. 
They do not fall in vain. 
237 



%ovc Songs 



Twenty years hence 

Twenty years hence my eyes may grow, 
If not quite dim, yet rather so, 
Yet yours from others they shall know 
Twenty years hence. 

Twenty years hence, tho' it may hap 
That I be call'd to take a nap 
In a cool cell where thunder-clap 
Was never heard — 



There breathe but o'er my arch of grass 
A not too-sadly sigh'd Alas, 
And I shall catch, ere you can pass, 
That winged word. 



While thou vvert by 

While thou wert by 

With laughing eye, 
I felt the glow and song of spring ; 

Now thou art gone 

I sit alone, 
Nor heed who smile nor hear who sing. 
238 



Maltcr Savage XanDor 



The Shortest Day 

The day of brightest dawn (day soonest flown !) 
Is that when we have met and you have gone. 



Sympathy in Sorrow 

The maid I love ne'er thought of me 
Amid the scenes of gaiety ; 
But when her heart or mine sank low, 
Ah, then it was no longer so. 

From the slant palm she raised her head, 
And kiss'd the cheek whence youth had fled. 
Angels I some future day for this, 
Give her as sweet and pure a kiss. 



The Grateful Heart 

The grateful heart for all things blesses ; 

Not only joy, but grief endears : 
I love you for your few caresses, 

I love you for your many tears. 
239 



Xove Songs 



Margaret 

Mother ! I cannot mind my wheel ; 

My fingers ache, my lips are dry. 
O, if you felt that pain I feel — 

But O, who ever felt as I ? 
No longer could I doubt him true : 

All other men may use deceit, — 
He always said my eyes were blue, 

And often swore my lips were sweet. 



240 



Xelob Ibunt 

James Henry Leigh Hunt -was born at Southgate in Middlesex in 
1784. At the age of sixteen appeared Juvenalia; or, A Collection 0/ 
Poems written bctweeti the Ages 0/ Tweh'e and Sixteen. In 1808 he 
left his place at the War Office to edit The Exatniner. For an attack 
upon the Prince Regent he was committed to prison for two years and 
fined ;{Jiooo. He went to Italy in 1821 to aid Shelley and Byron in the 
starting of The Liberal, but Shelley died and Byron removed to Greece, 
and so the enterprise collapsed. Hunt remained abroad for some years, 
and to this period belongs his best work. In 1842 he secured a pension, 
in 1S50 his Autobiography ^■p-^&zxe.A, and in 1859 he died. Byron said 
of Hunt, ' He is an honest charlatan who has persuaded himself into a 
belief of his own impostures, and talks Punch in pure simplicity of heart.' 
Further, he says, ' Hunt is an extraordinary character, and not exactly 
of the present age. He reminds me much of Pym and Hampden times 
— much talent, great independence of spirit, and an austere, yet not 
repulsive, aspect.' Shelley in a dedicatory letter is much more appreci- 
ative. 'One more gentle, honourable, innocent, and brave ; one of more 
exalted toleration for all who do and think evil, and yet himself more 
free from evil ; one who knows better how to receive and how to confer 
a benefit, though he must ever confer far more than he can receive ; one 
of simpler, and, in the highest sense of the word, of purer life 
and manners, I never knew.' 



Jenny Kissed Me 

Jenny kissed me when we met. 

Jumping from the chair she sat in ; 
Time, you thief, who love to get 

Sweets into your list, put that in : 
Say I'm weary, say I'm sad, 

Say that health and wealth have missed me, 
Say I'm growing old, but add, 

Jenny kissed me. 

241 



%ove Songs 
Silent Kisses 

We'll breathe not a kiss to the tell-tale air, 
Nor proclaim the fond triumph for others to share, 
For the rose never speaks while it opes to the dew, 
And lovers say little whose feelings are true ; 
The soul-speaking eyes are the language of blisses, 
And we'll talk with our eyes amidst silent kisses. 

'Tis silence gives soul to the beauty of night ; 
'Tis silence keeps secrets, the lover's delight : 
The stream moves in stillness, when soft on its breast 
The willows' fond leaves lie in kisses at rest : 
The heart throbs in stillness, and we in our blisses 
Will honour its feeling by sweet silent kisses. 

Yes ; when our lips move, yet have nothing to say. 
And our eyes in each other's warm beam fade away, 
'Tis then my heart springs up and trembles to thee, 
As the arrow still trembles when fix'd in the tree ; 
Oh, never let ear rob a part of our blisses ! 
Oh, all for the heart be our sweet silent kisses. 

A Nun 

If you become a nun, dear, 

A friar I will be ; 
In any cell you run, dear, 

Pray look behind for me. 
242 



Xelgb Ibunt 

The roses all turn pale, too ; 
The doves all take the veil, too ; 

The blind will see the show : 
What ! you become a nun, my dear ! 

I'll not believe it, no. 

If you become a nun, dear, 

The bishop Love will be ; 
The Cupids every one, dear. 

Will chaunt ' We trust in thee * : 
The incense will go sighing, 
The candles fall a dying. 

The water turn to wine : 
W' hat ! you go take the vows, my dear ! 

You may — but they'll be mine. 



To his Wife 

WHILE SHE WAS MODELLING THE POET'S BUST 

Ah, Marian mine ! the face you look on now 
Is not exactly like my wedding day's : 
Sunk is its cheek, deeper retired its gaze, 
Less white and smooth its temple-flatten'd brow. 
Sorrow has been there with his silent plough 
And strait stern hand. No matter ! if it raise 
Aught that affection fancies it may praise, 
Or makes me worthier of Apollo's bough. 
243 



%ovc Songs 

Loss after all, such loss especially, 
Is transfer, change, but not extinction. No 
Part in our children's apple-cheeks I see ; 
And for the rest, — while you look at me so, 
Take care you do not smile it back to me, 
And miss the copied furrows as you go ! 



244 



Ibenr^ Tkfrl^e Mbfte 

was the son of a Nottingham butcher, and was born In 1785. At the 

age of fifteen he entered the ofiSce of a solicitor. In 1802 a little volume 

of verse appeared, and a cruel review led to a friendship with Southey. 

Leaving the lawyer's office, the youth commenced a systematic study, 

and he was actually preparing for examination at Cambridge 

in 1805, when his delicate constitution sank under 

the strain. 



Why should I blush to own I love? 

Why should I blush to own I love ? 
'Tis love that rules the realms above ; 
Why should I blush to say to all 
That Virtue holds my heart in thrall ? 

Why should I seek the thickest shade. 
Lest Love's dear secret be betrayed ? 
Why the stern brow deceitful move, 
When I am languishing with love ? 

Is it weakness thus to dwell 
On passion that I dare not tell ? 
Such weakness I would ever prove — 
'Tis painful, though 'tis sweet to love. 



245 



Ubomas %ovc peacocPi 

was born at Weymouth in 1785. His first noteworthy literary efforts 
were volumes of verse, one of which introduced him to the notice of 
Shelley. As a novelist he worked on rather unique lines. He had 
hardly any plot, and there was little attempt at character-drawing, but 
he largely atoned for these deficiencies by sparkling wit and good 
sense. He was in the East India Company's Service for many years. 
He died in i856. Charles Mackay says this song is sometimes 
erroneously attributed to Howard Payne. 

Oh ! say not woman's heart is bought 

Oh ! say not woman's heart is bought 

With vain and empty treasure. 
Oh ! say not woman's heart is caught 

By every idle pleasure. 
When first her gentle bosom knows 

Love's flame, it wanders never ; 
Deep in her heart the passion glows, 

She loves, and loves for ever. 

Oh ! say not woman's false as fair, 

That like the bee she ranges ! 
Still seeking flowers more sweet and rare, 

As fickle fancy changes. 
Ah ! no, the love that first can warm 

Will leave her bosom never ; 
No second passion e'er can charm. 

She loves, and loves for ever. 
246 



Mavv^ Cornwall 



This was the pseudonym of Bryan Walter Procter, who was born in 
London in 1787, and educated at Harrow, where Byron was his school- 
fellow. He is chiefly remembered as the author of a considerable body 
of songs (notable for the most part for their simplicity and pathos), and 
a memoir of Charles Lamb, published in 1866. Latterly he had troops of 
friends, attracted partly by the generous and unenvious disposition of the 
aged poet. His later life was further cheered by the fame achieved by 
his daughter, Adelaide Anne Procter (1825-1B64), whose songs 
aroused the interest of Dickens. He died in 1874. 



Love me if I live 

Love me if I live ; 

Love me if I die ; 
What to me is life or death, 

So that thou be nigh ? 

Once I loved thee rich, 
Now I love thee poor ; 

Ah ! what is there I could not 
For thy sake endure ? 

Kiss me for my love ! 

Pay me for my pain ! 
Come ! and murmur in my ear 

How thou lov'st again. 
18 247 



%ovc BonQS 



Is my lover on the sea ? 

Is my lover on the sea, 

Sailing east or sailing west? 

Nightly ocean, gentle be, 
Rock him into rest ! 

Let no angry wind arise, 

Nor a wave with whitened crest ; 
All be gentle as his eyes 

When he is caressed ! 

Bear him (as the breeze above 
Bears the bird unto its nest) 

Here, — unto his home of love. 
And there bid him rest ! 



I love him 

I LOVE him, I dream of him, 

I sing of him by day ; 
And all the night I hear him talk, — 

And yet he's far away. 

There's beauty in the morning, 
There's sweetness in the May, 

There's music in the running stream ; 
And yet he's far away. 
248 



asarre Cornwall 

I love him, I trust in him ; 

He trusteth me alway : 
And so the time flies hopefully, 

Although he's far away. 



249 



Xort) Bi^ton 



George Noel Gordon Byron was born in London in 1788. The 
dissolute conduct of his father brought about the separation of his 
parents, the poet living with his mother in Aberdeen. In 1798 Byron's 
grand-uncle, Lord Byron, died at Newstead Abbey, and the boy of ten 
succeeded to the title. Various efforts were made for the boy's early 
education but the mother, quick-tempered and self-willed, upset the 
plans of his guardian, Lord Carlisle. Byron then went to Harrow, and 
proceeded to Cambridge in 1805. His first speech in the House of 
Lords was delivered in 1812, and the reception it obtained was most 
encouraging. Two days later Childe Harold {C3.nX.0i i. and ii.) appeared. 
Moore says, ' The effect was electric,' and Byron himself tersely de- 
scribed it : ' I awoke one morning and found myself famous.' Thereafter 
he was the idol of society. In 1815 he married, but within a year Lady 
Byron separated from him. Here is a picture of Byron {Memoir o/John 
Murray, 1891, i. 267): 'Lord Byron appeared to me rather a short 
man, with a handsome countenance, remarkable for the fine blue veins 
which ran over his pale, marble temples. He wore many rings on his 
fingers, and a brooch in his shirt front, which was embroidered. . . . 
Lord BjTon's deformity in his foot was very evident, especially as he 
walked down-stairs. He carried a stick. After Scott and he had ended 
their conversation in the drawing-room, it was a curious sight to see 
the two greatest poets of the age — both lame — stumping down-stairs 
side by side.' Byron lived much abroad, and died in 1824. 

Maid of Athens, ere we part 

Maid of Athens, ere we part, 
Give, oh, give me back my heart ! 
Or, since that has left my breast. 
Keep it now, and take the rest ! 
Hear my vow before I go, 
Zain fioZ, ffsis aya'Sai. * 

* ' Romaic expressions of tenderness : If I translate it, I shall affront 
the gentlemen, as it may seem that I supposed they could not ; and if I 

250 



XorO 33^von 

By those tresses unconfined, 
Wooed by each ^^gean wind ; 
By those Uds whose jetty fringe 
Kiss thy soft cheeks' blooming tinge ; 
By those wild eyes like the roe, 

Zuti f^ov, (ras ayaTu, 

By that lip I long to taste ; 
By that zone-encircled waist ; 
By all the token-flowers * that tell 
What words can never speak so well ; 
By love's alternate joy and woe, 
Xuvt fn-ou^ ras ci.ya.-jru. 

Maid of Athens ! I am gone : 
Think of me, sweet ! when alone. 
Though I fly to Istambol,t 
Athens holds my heart and soul : 
Can I cease to love thee ? No ! 
'Zuin /*af, ffSf kyccww, 

do not, I may affront the ladies. For fear of any misconstruction on the 
part of the latter, I shall do so, begging pardon of the learned. It 
means, " My life, I love you ! ' which sounds very pretty in all languages, 
and is as much in fashion in Greece at this day, as, Juvenal tells us, the 
two first words were amongst the Roman ladies, whose erotic expressions 
were all Hellenized.' 

* ' In the East, (where ladies are not taught to write, lest they should 
scribble assignations), flowers, cinders, pebbles, etc., convey the senti- 
ments of the parties, by that universal deputy of Mercury— an old woman. 
A cinder says, "I burn for thee"; a bunch of flowers tied with hair, 
" Take me and fly " ; but a pebble declares— what nothing else can.' 

t Constantinople. 

251 



%ox>c songs 



To Woman 

Woman ! experience might have told me 
That all must love thee who behold thee ; 
Surely experience might have taught, 
Thy firmest promises are naught ; 
But, placed in all thy charms before me. 
All I forget, but to adore thee. 
Oh, Memory ! thou choicest blessing, 
When join'd with hope, when still possessing ; 
But how much cursed by every lover, 
When hope is fled, and passion's over ! 
Woman, that fair and fond deceiver, 
How prompt are striplings to believe her I 
How throbs the pulse when first we view 
The eye that rolls in glossy blue. 
Or sparkles black, or mildly throws 
A beam from under hazel brows ! 
How quick we credit every oath, 
And hear her plight the willing troth i 
Fondly we hope 'twill last for aye, 
When, lo ! she changes in a day. 
This record will for ever stand, 
Woman ! thy vows are traced in sand.' * 



* The last line is almost a literal translation from a Spanish proverb. 
252 



XorD JSgron 

She walks in Beauty 

She walks in beauty, like the night 
Of cloudless climes and starry skies, 
And all that's best of dark and bright 
Meets in her aspect and her eyes : 
Thus mellow'd to that tender light 
Which heaven to gaudy day denies. 

One shade the more, one ray the less, 
Had half impair'd the nameless grace 
Which waves in every raven tress 
Or softly lightens o'er her face, 
Where thoughts serenely sweet express 
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place. 

And on that cheek, and o'er that brow, 

So soft, so calm, yet eloquent, 

The smiles that win, the tints that glow. 

But tell of days in goodness spent, — 

A mind at peace with all below, 

A heart whose love is innocent. 

To Thyrza 

And thou art dead ! as young and fair 

As aught of mortal birth ; 
And form so soft, and charms so rare. 

Too soon return'd to Earth. 
253 



Xove SorxQs 

Though Earth received them in her bed, 
And o'er the spot the crowd may tread 

In carelessness of mirth, 
There is an eye which could not brook 
A moment on that grave to look. 

I will not ask where thou liest low, 

Nor gaze upon the spot ; 
There flowers or weeds at will may grow, 

So I behold them not : 
It is enough for me to prove 
That what I loved, and long must love, 

Like common earth can rot. 
To me there needs no stone to tell 
'Tis Nothing that I loved so well. 

Yet did I love thee to the last, 

As fervently as thou. 
Who didst not change through all the past. 

And canst not alter now. 
The love where Death has set his seal. 
Nor age can chill, nor rival steal. 

Nor falsehood disavow ; 
And, what were worse, thou canst not see 
Or wrong, or change, or fault in me. 

The better days of life were ours, 

The worst can be but mine ; 
The sun that cheers, the storm that lours 

Shall never more be thine : 
254 



XorO JBsron 

The silence of that dreamless sleep 
I envy now too much to weep ; 

Nor need I to repine 
That all those charms have pass'd away, 
I might have watch'd through long decay. 

The flower in ripen'd bloom unmatch'd 

Must fall the earliest prey ; 
Though by no hand untimely snatch'd, 

The leaves must drop away : 
And yet it were a greater grief 
To watch it withering leaf by leaf, 

Than see it plucked to-day, — 
Since earthly eye but ill can bear 
To trace the change to foul from fair. 

I wot not if I could have borne 

To see thy beauties fade : 
The night that follow'd such a morn 

Had worn a deeper shade. 
Thy day without a cloud hath pass'd, 
And thou wert lovely to the last, 

Extinguished, not decay'd ; 
As stars that shoot along the sky 
Shine brightest as they fall from high. 

As once I wept — if I could weep, 
My tears might well be shed. 

To think I was not near to keep 
One vigil o'er thy bed ; 
255 



Xove Songs 

To gaze, how fondly ! on thy face, 
To fold thee in a faint embrace. 

Uphold thy drooping head, 
And show that love, however vain, 
Nor thou nor I can feel again. 

Yet how much less it were to gain 
(Though thou hast left me free) 
The loveliest things that still remain. 

Than thus remember thee : 
The all of thine that cannot die 
Through dark and dread Eternity 

Returns again to me ; 
And more thy buried love endears 
Than aught, except its living years. 



On Parting 

The kiss, dear maid 1 thy lip has left 

Shall never part from mine. 
Till happier hours restore the gift 

Untainted back to thine. 

Thy parting glance, which fondly beams, 

An equal love may see : 
The tear that from thine eyelid streams 

Can weep no change in me. 
256 



XorD JBsron 

I ask no pledge to make me blest 

In gazing when alone ; 
Nor one memorial for a breast 

Whose thoughts are all thine own. 



Nor need I write— to tell the tale 
My pen were doubly weak : 

Oh ! what can idle words avail, 
Unless the heart could speak ? 



By day or night, in weal or woe, 
That heart, no longer free, 

Must bear the love it cannot show. 
And silent ache for thee. 



The Girl of Cadiz 

Oh never talk again to me 

Of northern climes and British ladies ; 
It has not been your lot to see. 

Like me, the lovely Girl of Cadiz. 
Although her eye be not of blue. 

Nor fair her locks like English lasses, 
How far its own expressive hue 

The languid azure eye surpasses ! 
257 



%ovc Songs 

Prometheus-like, from heaven she stole 

The fire, that through those silken lashes 
In darkest glances seems to roll, 

From eyes that cannot hide their flashes : 
And as along her bosom steal 

In lengthen'd flow her raven tresses, 
You'd swear each clustering lock could feel. 

And curl'd to give her neck caresses. 



Our English maids are long to woo, 

And frigid even in possession ; 
And if their charms be fair to view, 

Their lips are slow at love's confession : 
But, born beneath a brighter sun. 

For love ordain'd the Spanish maid is, 
And who — when fondly, fairly won — 

Enchants you like the Girl of Cadiz ? 



The Spanish maid is no coquette, 

Nor joys to see her lover tremble, 
And if she love, or if she hate, 

Alike she knows not to dissemble. 
Her heart can ne'er be bought or sold — 

Howe'er it beats, it beats sincerely ; 
And, though it will not bend to gold, 

'Twill love you long and love you dearly. 
258 



The Spanish girl that meets your love 

Ne'er taunts you with a mock denial, 
For every thought is bent to prove 

Her passion in the hour of trial. 
When thronging foemen menace Spain, 

She dares the deed and shares the danger ; 
And should her lover press the plain, 

She hurls the spear, her love's avenger. 

And when, beneath the evening star. 

She mingles in the gay Bolero, 
Or sings to her attuned guitar 

Of Christian knight or Moorish hero 
Or counts her beads with fairy hand 

Beneath the twinkling rays of Hesper, 
Or joins devotion's choral band, 

To chaunt the sweet and hallow'd Vesper 

In each her charms the heart must move, 

Of all who venture to behold her ; 
Then let not maids less fair reprove 

Because her bosom is not colder : 
Through many a clime 'tis mine to roam. 

Where many a soft and melting maid is, 
But none abroad and few at home 

May match the dark-eyed Girl of Cadiz. 



259 



was born at Field Place, near Horsham, in 1792. In his school-days he 
distinguished himself as an author, but a tract called The Necessity of 
Atheism led to his expulsion from Oxford in 181 1. Shelley was engaged 
to his cousin, but the engagement was cancelled. He seems to have 
been genuinely affected by this event, but within six months he eloped 
with Harriet Westbrook, the daughter of a retired coffee-house pro- 
prietor. There was more chivalry than love on the part of Shelley, for 
Harriet, though a pretty and agreeable girl, seems to have aroused his 
sympathies in a large degree by a desire to free her from an oppressive 
home life. They were an ill-matched pair. Harriet had no understanding 
of the artistic yearnings of the young poet, nor of his notions for the better- 
ment of mankind. They parted, Shelley finding a congenial and helpful 
companion in Mary Godwin, a woman of rare powers. Harriet was in 
despair, and ultimately drowned herself. Then Shelley and Mary married. 
A life full of incident, brief, but productive of a vast amount of 
great and enduring work, closed in 1822, when 
the poet was drowned. 



Love's Philosophy 

The fountains mingle with the river. 

And the river with the ocean, 
The winds of heaven mix for ever 

With a sweet emotion 
Nothing in the world is single I 

All things, by a law divine, 
In another's being mingle — 

Why not I with thine ? 
260 



Ipcrci3 assssbe Sbelleg 

See the mountains kiss high heaven, 

And the waves clasp one another ; 
No sister flower would be forgiven 

If it disdained its brother : 
And the sunlight clasps the earth, 

And the moonbeams kiss the sea ; 
What are all those kissings worth, 

If thou kiss not me? 



Lines to an Indian Air 

I ARISE from dreams of thee, 

In the first sweet sleep of night, 
\Vhen the winds are breathing low, 

And the stars are shining bright ; 
I arise from dreams of thee. 

And a spirit in my feet 
Has led me — who knows how ? — 

To thy chamber window, sweet. 

The wandering airs they faint 

On the dark and silent stream, 
The Champak odours fail 

Like sweet thoughts in a dream. 
The nightingale's complaint 

It dies upon her heart. 
As I must upon thine, 

O beloved as thou art ! 
261 



Xove Songa 

O lift me from the grass ! 

I die, I faint, I fail ; 
Let thy love in kisses rain 

On my lips and eyelids pale. 
My cheek is cold and white alas ! 

My heart beats loud and fast ; 
Oh ! press it close to thine again, 

Where it will break at last. 



Good-night 

Good-night? ah ! no ; the hour is ill 
Which severs those it should unite ; 

Let us remain together still, 
Then it will be Good-night. 

How can I call the lone night good, 
Though thy sweet wishes wing its flight ? 

Be it not said, thought, understood. 
That it will be Good-night. 

To hearts which near each other move 
From evening close to morning light. 

The night is good ; because, my Love, 
They never say Good-night. 



262 



jfelicia Borotbea Ibemans 

nee Browne, the daughter of a Liverpool merchant, was born in 1793. 

Her first book appeared when she was only fourteen years of age, and in 

some quarters it was severely criticised. In 1812 she married Captain 

Hemans, but the union was not a happy one, and they separated in 1818. 

Besides a large body of verse, Mrs. Hemans made some translations. 

Her later works consisted of hymns and sonnets. She suffered from 

palpitation of the heart, and in 1835 she died. 'That holy spirit, sweet 

as the spring, as ocean deep,' says Wordsworth ; but Sir Walter Scott is 

more critical : ' Mrs. Hemans is somewhat too poetical for my taste 

— too many flowers, I mean, and too little fruit ; but that 

may be the cynical criticism of an elderly gentleman.' 



Oh ! if thou wilt not give thine heart 

Oh ! if thou wilt not give thine heart, 

Give back mine own to me, 
Or bid thine image thence depart, 

And leave me lone, but free. 

Yet no ! this mournful love of mine 

I would not from me cast ! 
Let me but dream 'twill win me thine 

By its deep truth at last. 

Can aught so fond, so faithful live 
Through years without reply ? 

Oh ! if thine heart thou wilt not give, 
Give me a thought, a sigh ! 
19 263 



5obn fteats 



The promising career of this great poet was curtailed by misfortunes, 

by sickness, and by early death, and it is said (though the statement 

is disputed) that the savagery which was the leading feature of the 

reviews of some of his best work bent his spirit, and, acting on a very 

delicate constitution, hastened his end. Joseph Severn, the painter, 

was his faithful friend, and together they lie buried in the Protestant 

cemetery at Rome. Keats also included among his friends 

Charles Wells, Leigh Hunt, and Shelley. He was 

born in 1795, and died in 1821. 



On a Picture of Leander 

Come hither, all sweet maidens soberly, 

Down-looking aye, and with a chasten'd light, 
Hid in the fringes of your eyelids white, 

And meekly let your fair hands joined be, 

As if so gentle that ye could not see, 

Untouch'd, a victim of your beauty bright. 
Sinking away to his young spirit's night, 

Sinking bewilder'd 'mid the dreary sea : 

'Tis young Leander toiling to his death ; 
Nigh swooning, he doth purse his weary lips 

For Hero's cheek, and smiles against her smile. 
O horrid dream I see how his body dips 

Dead heavy ; arms and shoulders gleam awhile. 

He's gone ; up bubbles all his amorous breath. 
264 



5obn 'fftcats 



The Day is Gone 

The day is gone, and all its sweets are gone ! 

Sweet voice, sweet lips, soft hand, and softer breast 
Warm breath, light whisper, tender semi-tone, 

Bright eyes, accomplish'd shape and lang'rous waist 
Faded the flower and all its budded charms, 

Faded the sight of beauty from my eyes, 
Faded the shape of beauty from my arms, 

Faded the voice, warmth, whiteness, paradise — 
Vanish'd unseasonably at shut of eve. 

When the dusk holiday — or holinight 
Of fragrant-curtain'd love begins to weave 

The woof of darkness thick, for hid delight ; 
But, as I've read love's missal through to-day. 
He'll let me sleep, seeing I fast and pray. 



Keats's Last Sonnet 

Written on a blank page of the Poems of Shakespeaj'e, facing 
* A Lover's Complaint' - 

Bright star ! would I were steadfast as thou art — 
Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night, 

And watching, with eternal lids apart, 
Like Nature's patient sleepless Eremite, 
265 



Xove Song0 

The moving waters at their priest-like task 

Of pure ablution round earth's human shores, 
Or gazing on the new soft fallen mask 

Of snow upon the mountains and the moors.— 
No — yet still steadfast, still unchangeable, 

Pillowed upon my fair love's ripening breast, 
To feel for ever its soft fall and swell, 

Awake for ever in a sweet unrest ; 
Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath, 
And so live ever — or else swoon to death. 



266 



Ibartle^ Colettt)ac 

the son of Samuel Taylor Coleridge, was born in 1796. He was 

educated first in Cumberland, proceeding to Oxford in 1815. He was 

elected to a fellowship at Oriel College, but was deprived of the place 

within a year. He was of a highly sensitive temperament, and his 

dismissal was the turning-point to failure in his life. He occasionally 

wrote magazine articles, and in 1832 made for a publisher in 

Leeds his Worthies of Yorkshire. Appended 

is one of his best-known songs. 



She is not fair to outward view 

She is not fair to outward view, 

As many maidens be ; 
Her loveliness I never knew 

Until she smiled on me ! 
Oh, then I saw her eye was bright — 
A well of love, a spring of light. 

But now her looks are coy and cold, 

To mine they ne'er reply ; 
And yet I cease not to behold 

The love-light in her eye : 
Her very frowns are sweeter far 
Than smiles of other maidens are. 



267 



5obn Ibamllton IRe^nolDs 

was a brother-in-law of Thomas Hood. Together they wrote Odes and 

Addresses to Great People (1825). Reynolds was a notable man of 

letters, wrote for the reviews, and defended Keats against the abuse 

with which he was assailed. He was born in 1796, and at 

the time of his death, in 1852, he was clerk of the 

County Court of the Isle of Wight. 



Go where the water glideth gently ever 

Go where the water glideth gently ever, 

Glideth by meadows that the greenest be ; 
Go, listen to our beloved river : 
And think of me ! 

Wander in forests where the small flower layeth 

Its fairy gem beside the giant tree ; 
Listen the dim brook pining while it playeth : 
And think of me ! 

Watch when the sky is silver pale at even, 

And the wind grieveth in the lonely tree ; 
Go out beneath the solitary heaven ! 
And think of me ! 

And when the moon riseth as she were dreaming, 

And treadeth with white feet the lulled sea, 
Go, silent as a star beneath her beaming, 
And think of me ! 
268 



Xlbomas Iba^nes Ba^l^ 

was the author of a great body of songs, dramas, and tales. Some of his 

songs, notably ' I'd be a butterfly, born in a bower,' attained tremendous 

success, and, in a lesser degree, ' She wore a wreath of Roses,' ' We 

met : 'twas in a crowd.' Bayly was born at Bath in 1797, and 

died in 1839. 



Do you remember 

Do you remember when you heard 

My lips breathe love's first faltering word ; 

You do, sweet — don't you ? 
When, having wander'd all the day, 
Link'd arm in arm, I dared to say, 

' You'll love me — won't you ? ' 

And when you blush'd, and could not speak, 
I fondly kiss'd your glowing cheek ; 

Did that affront you ? 
Oh, surely not : your eye exprest 
No wrath — but said, perhaps in jest, 

You'll love me — won't you ? 

I'm sure my eyes replied, ' I will ' ; 
And you believe that promise still ; 

You do, sweet — don't you ? 
Yes, yes ! when age has made our eyes 
Unfit for questions, or replies, 

You'll love me — won't you ? 
269 



%ove 501100 



The Vows of Men 

Write on the sand when the tide is low, 
Seek the spot when the waters flow ; 
Whisper a name when the storm is heard, 
Pause, that echo may breathe the word : 
If that you wrote on the sand should last, 
And echo is heard 'mid the tempest blast. 
Then believe, and not till then. 
That there's truth in the vows of men. 

Throw a rose on the stream at morn, 
Watch at eve for the flower's return ; 
Drop in the ocean a golden grain : 
Hope 'twill shine on the shore again ! 
If the rose you again behold, 
If you gaze again on your grain of gold, 
Then believe, and not till then. 
That there's truth in the vows of men. 



270 



Ubomas 1boo5 

was born in London in 1799, and at the age of fifteen was apprenticed to 

an engraver. Weak health required him to abandon so confining an 

occupation. In 1821 he became sub-editor of the London Magazine, and 

displayed his fund of humour in the answers to correspondents. The 

first series of IVhhns and Oddities appeared in 1826. In 1844 he started 

Hood's Magazine, but towards the close of that year his health gave way, 

and he died in 1845. Mr. W. M. Rossetti — than whom there is no 

better critic of the poet — considers Hood the finest English poet 

between the generation of Shelley and the generation 

of Tennyson. 



I love thee 

I LOVE thee — I love thee ! 

'Tis all that I can say ; — 
It is my vision in the night, 

My dreaming in the day ; 
The very echo of my heart, 

The blessing when I pray ; 
I love thee — I love thee ! 

Is all that I can say. 

I love thee — I love thee ! 

Is ever on my tongue ; 
In all my proudest poesy 

That chorus still is sung ; 
271 



%ove Songs 

It is the verdict of my eyes, 
Amidst the gay and young : 

I love thee — I love thee ! 
A thousand maids among. 

I love thee — I love thee ! 

Thy blight and hazel glance, 
The mellow lute upon those lips, 

Whose tender tones entrance ; 
But most, dear heart of hearts, thy proofs 

That still these words enhance, 
I love thee — I love thee ! 

Whatever be thy chance. 

Love, I am jealous of a worthless man 

Love, I am jealous of a worthless man 
Whom — for his merits — thou dost hold too dear : 
No better than myself, he lies as near 
And precious to thy bosom. He may span 
Thy sacred waist, and with thy sweet breath fan 
His happy cheek, and thy most willing ear 
Invade with words, and call his love sincere 
And true as mine, and prove it — if he can : — 
Not that I hate him for such deeds as this — 
He were a devil to adore thee less, 
Who wears thy favour, — I am ill a* ease 
Rather lest he should e'er too coldly press 
Thy gentle hand : — -This is my jealousy. 
Making myself suspect, but never thee I 
272 



Q;boma6 IbooD 

Let us make a leap 

Let us make a leap, my dear, 
In our love, of many a year, 
And date it very far away. 
On a bright clear summer day, 
When the heart was like a sun 
To itself, and falsehood none ; 
And the rosy lips apart 
Of the very loving heart, 
And the shining of the eye 
But a sign to know it by ; — 
When my faults were all forgiven, 
And my life deserved of Heaven. 
Dearest, let us reckon so, 
And love for all that long ago ; 
Each absence count a year complete. 
And keep a birthday when we meet. 

See thy lover humbled at thy feet 

Love, see thy lover humbled at thy feet. 
Not in servility, but homage sweet, 
Gladly inclined : — and with my bended knee 
Think that my inward spirit bows to thee — 
More proud indeed than when I stand or climb 
Elsewhere : — there is no statue so sublime 
As Love's in all the world, and e'en to kiss 
The pedestal is still a better bliss 
273 



%ove Songs 

Than all ambitions. O ! Love's lowest base 
Is far above the reaching of disgrace 
To share this posture. Let me then draw nigh 
Feet that have fared so nearly to the sky, 
And when this duteous homage has been given 
I will rise up and clasp the heart in Heaven. 



274 



Cbatles 5eremiab mells 

was born in London in 1800, and Keats and Home were among his early 
friends. In 1824 appeared Joseph and hts Brethren. It was received 
with indifference at the time, but has been declared since ' the most 
Shakespearian drama since Shakespeare's day.' He abandoned a literary 
life in England, and the profession of the law to which he had been 
articled had no more hold on him. He lived in retirement in South 
Wales ; and about 1840 took up his residence on the Continent, settling 
latterly at Marseilles, where he died in 1879. At the death of his wife 
he is said to have destroyed a large body of poetry. Dante Gabriel 
Rossetti, Mr. Swinburne, and Mr. Theodore Watts have done much to 
foster an interest in Wells, and give him a well-deserved place 
among the poets of England. 



Kiss no more the Vintages 

Kiss no more the Vintages, 

Thou hot-lipp'd sun ! 
Flow no more the merry wine 

From the dark tun ! 

Above my bed hang dull nightshade, 
And o'er my brow the willow 1 

With maiden flowers from dewy bowers 
Cover my last pillow ! 

Away ! away to the green sward ! 

My young heart breaks : 
Break the earth, and lay me deep ! 

Love my breath takes. 
275 



%ove Songs 



Angels ! pity, and hear this ditty 
Breathed from a poor girl's lips : 

O'er her lover ever hover, 
Scattering earthly bliss ! 

Come, thou iron-crowned Death ! 

Into my stretched arms, 
Bridegroom to my maiden breast ; 

End my sad alarms ! 




Lead on, lead on, thou Love of Bone ! 

Over the heath wild ; 
And 'neath the grass secure fast 

Thy melancholy child ! 



276 



d is reached by 
f the Congress 
I walking in the 

road known as 
lalfway to the 
"ancn leading to 
; and Marshall 
ht branch, the 
illls, past farms 
you follow it to 
jund the Indus- 
ds at the Home 

know the way, 
at a stretch of 
,1 Home School 
s winding path 
i home. Bmerg- 
j woods, a good 
] Potomac river 

away, and be- 
e the buildings 

the home. The 
capital E, with 
»und backward, 
the nxale wing, 
le, and the up- 
idle the dining 
sun parlors for 
e short arm of 
etween the two 
ation building, 
ns, the nurses 
of the female 
3S- 



provides a res- 
.Imshouse, who 
)ensary. and is 
ivlng his quar- 
'. building. Dr. 
libent. 

jf four small 

l**nts according 

Ijal number of 

,d ten, and Dr. 

i/ge of twenty 

led nurses, one 

n. until 4 p.m. 

mtil midnight, 

i Miss Sophia 

^e at present. 

Hct of Colum- 

(infirm to earn 

» an inmate of 

I 1 the board of 

: has a small 

, 3 is allowed to 

the home, and 

^n differs fr-^ii 



tom^c, there Is a backwater into which 
a creek called Oxon Hill run empties. 
This winds around near the old 'folks' 
home, and at one place n«ar there is a 
clearing in the bushes on the bank, and 
here several planks have been laid and 
the spot has been named Pierce's land- 
ing. Every afternoon several old men sit 
with their rods and lines and swap remi- 
niscences while they lie in wait for the 
elusive eel or the canny catfish. Now 
that the days have grown cold Pierce's 
landing lias grown deserted except for 
a single frequenter. One old man is still 
faithful, and day after day he may be 
seen with his old slouch hat pulled down 
and his line dangling in the streani. 
The farmers thereabouts call him "The 
Lone Fisherman of Pierce's L>anding." 

There are four sun parlors in the 
home, and in each of the two devoted to 
women there is a piano. After supper in 
the evening, when the dusk Is creeping 
across the bills and the frogs can be 
heard down on the river bank tuning up, 
some old lady will steal over to the piano 
and raise the cover softly. From the 
yellowed keys come the first notes of 
"Annie Laurie,'' and as the words of the 
song seem to form themselves in the 



m 



X 



MISS M 

The Well Kno 



Tells hoTv she came to have 
SloBsy, beautiful hair. Read her 

"I am a constant usher of 
Herplcide and can most cordlall 
mend it as an unsurpassed hair 

I first came to use it in this ^ 
hair was originally very long, I 
glossy, but after a severe sickm 
gan to fall out terribly and lo: 
gloss and loveliness. A friend 
to whom I was telling my trou 
street car, said, "Why don't 
Herpiclde? That will save it," a 
ed laughingly at the "ad" with 
funny heads. I thought that ha\ 
nearly everything I might as wel 



e a 



i* 
*f 

I 

*} BY SIB £ 

♦!■ "She Is dead!" they said to him: "come away; 

Y Kiss her and leave her — thy love is clay!" 

Y They smoothed her tresses of. dark brown hair; 

Y On her forehead of stone they laid It fair. 

X Over her eyes that gazed too much i 

A They drew the lids with a gentle touch; ' 

•? 

♦♦« With a tender touch they closed up well 

Y The sweet thin lips, that had secrets to tell. 

T 

Y About her brows and her beautiful face 

♦J» They tied her veil and her marriage lace, 

Y 

Y And drew on her white feet her white silk shoes; 

Y Which were the whitest, no eye could choose. 
*? 

*t* And over her bosom crossed her hands; 

A "Come away," they said, "God understands." 

Y 

*♦* 

♦♦« And there was silence, and nothing there 

♦♦« But silence, and scents of eglantere, 

Y 

♦*♦ And jasmine, and roses, and rosemary; 

X . And tbey said, "As a lady should lie, lies she." „ 

»*♦ And they held their breath till they left the room f 

♦> With a shudder, a glance at its stillness and gloom. 

Y 

Y But he, who loved her too well to dread 

Y The sweet, tlie stately, the beautiful dead, \ 

t ■■ 

't* He lit his lamp and took the key 

i And turned it — aloire again — lie and she. 

?♦ 

t He and she — but she would not speak, 

^ Though he kissed, in the old place, the quiet chee 

,*» He and she: yet she would not smile j 

,*♦ Though he called her the name she loved erstwhile 

»!♦ He and she; still she did not move 

►> To any passionate whisper of love. f 

i* 

Y Then he said, "Cold lips, and breast without brea 

Y Is there no voice, no language of death, 

X 

,t^ "Dumb tb the ear, and still to the sense 

t But to heart and soul distinct, intense? 

■4 ,. . . , 



♦!*♦♦♦♦♦•♦♦♦♦•*♦♦♦ ♦Jh5m{*»J»»J»»J» *J»»Jh{m*«***^m*«***»***J»****** *Jm.*«*J>**«****^*********m***** 

I 
I 



i>fie. ~^^ 



♦% >o 



.SNOIiD. 



ee now, I will listen with soul, not ear; ♦;♦ 

ha^ was the secret of dying, dear? i 

♦|« E 

T'as It the infinite wonder of all ♦♦• jg 

at you ever could l&t life's flower fall? V >2 

r was it a greater marvel to feel , j[^ 

e perfect calm" o'er the agony steal? X 

Tas the miracle greater to find how deep «*♦ 

yond all dreams sank downward that sleep? A 

Id life roll back its record, dear, ♦:«^^ 

d show, as they say It does, past things clear? ♦> 

♦%7S 

nd was it the innermost heart of th© bliss V i 

find out so, what a wisdom love is? V ,, 

perfect dead! O dead most dear! Y 

lold the breath of my soul to hear. V ^ 

listen a^ deep as to terrible hell, »*,;5 

high as to heaven, and you do not tell. Ao 

V 

here must be pleasure in dying, sweet, «J* 

make you so placid from head to feet! j" '^ 

*♦* .8 

would tell you, darling, if I were dead *»* ^ 

d your hot tears on my brow were shed. X z 

would say, tho' the angel of death had laid *1* . 

3 sword on my lips to keep it unsaid — •;♦ 

ou should not ask vainly with streaming eyes V^ 

lich of all deaths was the chiefest surprise, V ^ 

he very strangest and suddenest thing *j* 

all the stirprise that dying must bring." y^ 

foolish world! O most kind dead, *»*^ 

Ligh he told me, who will believe it was said. jC' 

X 

will believe that he heard her say, ,*♦ 

1 the sweet, soft voice, in tlie dear old way, »jt 

utmost wonder is this — I hear ►!♦ 

see you, and love you, and kiss you, dear. '»♦ 

n your ^jigel, who was your bride, "j' 

know that, though. dead, I have never diet!.' 'f 

ST 



-^ Special Correspondence of The Star. 

^kJn ATLANTIC CITY, N. J., 

4) November 18, 1911. 

Y The Boardwalk remains thronged 
J, wltii promenaders. Ho much so, in fact, 
♦|i that the stranger within tlie city's 

Y gates would never be able to tell 
*l, where the summer season had left off 
•I and that of fall began. 

V Tuesday morning broke clear and 

V cool, and the storm of Sunday was but 
X a memory along the Boardwalk, 
♦? where the sun shone lieartily upon 
5* the promenaders and the wliite-capped 
A sea. Wednesday was even better from 
♦3 in atmospherical standpoir^t, and the 

/i*t, sun brought men, women and children 
A :o the sea's side. November is making 
•j« jood her auspicious weatlier opening. 
y^ To tlae sea-stranger, unacquainted 
J», .vith the varying moods of old ocean, 
♦i* or the vagaries, of tides, a trip across 
Y the salt marslies is a revelation. One 
,J,may cross when the tide Is low, and 
he great green grassy plain lies 
Y stretching away before tlie eye for 
Axiiles. Tne next trip may be made at 
Alood tide, witli a different prospect, 
♦♦♦^ow the vast level stretches of wav- 
ing green are covered with water, and 
1^1 small young ocean lies where before 
IXia'! been miles of salt marsh swamp, ' 

|»|«vith nothing above the waterline save 
»5che .straightaway lines of the railroad 
♦zracks. 

|»j Even in the supposedly dull 'jeason 

♦};he dusky station and hotel porters 

l*jit the different Atlantic City .depots 

[Vre Itept on a well trained jump to 

[*l;are for the incoming and outgoing 

traveler. And althougli the great liag- 

^age platforms are not piled mountain 

I ,iigh with luggage, as in tlie heart of 

i,)Ummer, yet enough arrive and depart 

1 ►o convince the most skeptical that 

Atlantic City is not forgotten by tlie 

nland dwellers. 

Notwithstanding the coolness of the 
November air the Boardwalk continues 
;o be thronged nightly, and save for 
:lie brisk tang; in the atmospliere one 
;ould imagine tlie brilliancy and glit- 
ter of it all to spell the summer sea- 
son. The Boardwalk, theaters, piers 
ind the many cafes are all brilliantly 
illuminated, and the supper and the- 
iter throngs merely promenade a 
:rifle more' quickly in deference to the 
:;oolness that is felt even _ beneath 



!■■ mill iiriTIIT' ' 

The Home f|l 

riding out to \ 
Heights car lirj 
same direction! 
Turner's plkf. 
Home it forks^ 
Fort Foote, i 
Hall. Followl) 
road leads up t 
and orchards, a 
its termination, 
trial Home Sch 
for the Aged, 
however, leave 
woods near th^ 
and plunge bo 
which is a shor 
ing in a clear f 
view is obtain 
flowing about : 
tween it -nd t 
of the Home fo 
Three buildini 
main one is sh< 
the sliort arm 
The top arm o 
the bottom arr 
riglit line has 
room, and 'on > 
the respective 
the E is the kll 
wings is the 
which houses 
and the physic 
wing is tlie hos 



The District c 
ident physiciar 
holds a daily r 
at all times wl 
ters in the ad 
S. Boyce Pole 

The hospital 
wards, segrega 
to sex and rai 
patients is bnll 
Pole sees dJ 
cases. Therel 
being on dijt 
and the of ] 
Miss AmaTh^e; 
Haskins anct] 

Any resii I 
bia wlio isar 
his own livj 
the home b\ 
charities. If 
income from {■•• 
retain this wl 
in th is respepH^ 



INDEX TO WRITERS 



Atterbury, Francis, Bishop 
of Rochester 179 



Bayly, Thomas Haynes 
Beaumont and Fletcher 
Bishop, Samuel . 
Blake, William . 
Breton, Nicholas 
Brome, Alexander 
Browne, William 
Butler, Samuel . 
Byron, Lord . . 



Campion, Thomas 
Carew, Thomas . 
Carey, Henry . 
Coleridge, Hartley 
Coleridge, Samuel Taylor 
Congreve, William . . 
Constable, Henry . . 
Cornwall, Barry . . 
Cotton, Charles . . . 
Cowley, Abraham . . 
Cowper, William . , 

Daniel, Samuel . . 
D'Avenant, Sir William 
Davison, Francis . . 
Dibdin, Charles . . . 
Dibdin, Thomas . . 
Dodsley, Robert . . 
Donne, John .... 



269 

99 
208 
213 

36 
159 
127 

154 
250 



70 
122 
191 
267 

219 
188 

39 
247 
161 



52 
150 

75 
212 



PAGE 

Drayton, Michael .... 59 

Dryden, John 162 

D'Urfey, Thomas .... 160 



Etherege, Sir George 



166 



Fenton, Elijah .... 193 

Fielding, Henry .... 202 
Finch, Anne, Countess of 

Winchilsea 178 

Fletcher, Giles iir 

Ford, John 107 

Gascoignk, George ... 16 

Gay, John 194 

Gifford, Humphrey ... 35 

Googe, Barnaby .... 20 
Granville, George, Lord 

Lansdowne 187 

Greene, Robert 48 

Greville, Fulke, Lord Brooke 33 

Grimald, Nicholas .... 12 

Harrington, John ... 14 

Hemans, Felicia Dorothea . 263 

Herrick, Robert .... 132 

Heywood, Thomas ... 96 

Hood, Thomas 271 

Howard, Henry, Earl of 

Surrey 9 

Hughes, John 192 

Hunt, Leigh 241 



277 



JuDei* to "Wnritets 



PAGE 

Jago, Richard 206 

Jenyns, Soame 201 

Johnson, Samuel .... 204 

Jonson, Ben 86 

Keats, John 264 

King, Henry, Bishop of Chi- 
chester 130 

Kynaston, Sir Francis . . 109 

Lamb, Charles 231 

Landor, Walter Savage . . 234 

Lewis, ' Monk ' 228 

Lodge, Thomas 43 

Lovelace, Colonel . . . . 156 

Lyly, John 29 

Lyttelton, George Lord . . 203 

Marlowe, Christopher . . 54 

Middleton, Thomas ... 80 

Milton, John 151 

Montagu, Lady Mary Wort- 
ley 195 

Oldmixon, John .... 190 

Otway, Thomas 176 

Peacock, Thomas Love . . 246 

Peele, George 23 

Pomfret, John 185 

Prior, Matthew 183 





PAGE 


Raleigh, Sir Walter . . 


• 27 


Reynolds, John Hamilton 


. 268 


Sackville, Charles, Earl of 


Dorset 


. 167 


Savage, Richard . . . 


• 197 


Sedley, Sir Charles . . 


• 171 


Shakespeare, William . . 


. 61 


Sheffield, John, Duke 


of 


Buckinghamshire . . 


• 17s 


Shelley, Percy Bysshe 


. 260 


Skelton, John .... 


I 


Southey, Robert . . . 


. 229 


Spenser, Edmund . . . 


• 25 


Strode, William .... 


. 146 


Suckling, Sir John . . . 


. 152 


Sydney, Sir Philip . . . 


• 31 


Sylvester, Joshua . . . 


■ S8 



Vere, Edward, Earl of 
Oxford 15 



Waller, Edmund. . . 


• 147 


Walsh, William . . . . 


. 180 


Watson, Thomas . . . 


• 47 


Wells, Charles Jeremiah . 


• 27s 


White, Henry Kirke . . 


• 245 


Whitehead, William . . 


. 207 


Wilmot, John, Earl 


of 


Rochester 


• 173 


Wither, George .... 


. 114 


Wordsworth, William . . 


. 214 


Wotton, Sir Henry . . 


. 78 


Wyatt, Sir Thomas . . 


3 



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